


The Married Woman

by the_real_cactus_betty



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: AU, Childhood Friends, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_real_cactus_betty/pseuds/the_real_cactus_betty
Summary: AUVeronica married her childhood friend Duncan Kane, he was an easy choice, a safe choice. Logan returns into their life, divorced and ready to start a new chapter. His return stirs up some questions, and some truths Veronica has been hiding for years.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 34
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Setting:** Full AU. Everyone was childhood friends. No murders, none of the terrible things happened, Duncan is just boring old Duncan. LoVe never dated. 

Just telling another version of LoVe's story.

* * *

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Duncan beams, tapping my nose with the tip of his finger.

There is a spring in his step as he heads for the kitchen and resumes peeling potatoes.

“Oh Goodie, you know how much I love surprises,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. Surprises were at the bottom of my favorites list, Duncan’s surprises were notorious. Notoriously bad.

I save the document on my laptop, clip it shut, and rise from the couch.

My bare feet pad across the hot floorboards.

“Okay, spill,” I glare at him.

“Nope,” Duncan grins, focusing on the potatoes

I lean against the pantry door. Waiting. Feet tapping.

“You can groan all you want, Veronica Kane. I’m not going to tell you.”

I shrug, open the fridge and pull out a bottle of Pino Gris. The bottle is lovely and icy, dripping condensation over my fingers. I run my wet fingers over my neck, pour a large glass and take a delicious sip.

The cool air had been on the fritz for days, getting warmer and warmer until with a grumble and some taps, it finally died, right in the middle of summer. The ‘guy’ was under the pump; he couldn’t get here for at least a week. It felt like a sauna. I reach for the windows to see if they would wind out any further, trying desperately to get some air-flow through our apartment.

“It’s not that bad, we’ve got ice, we’ve got friends, we’ll sit on the balcony. Once the sun goes down, it will cool off,” Duncan was chipper for a Friday.

I collect the plates and head for the Balcony, setting the places.

\-----------------

I sit with my feet on the chair beside me, wine in hand, laughing with Mac.

Wallace’s kids Andy and Lexie are playing under the table with the box of toys I’d brought them from the spare room.

“I swear to God, Veronica, I’m going to kill his mother,” Mac whispers _kill_ so the kids didn’t hear.

“If she comes into my house again and secretly cleans while babysitting, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I found my plastics drawer the other day completely rearranged. She’d taken out each one RE-CLEANED it and then put it back, in perfectly fucked up little piles,” covering her mouth when she realizes she forgot to whisper the ‘fuck.’

I snort.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got two words for you... Celeste Kane,” I put my feet onto the table and cross them, asking for a challenge.

Mac grimaces.

“Okay,” her hands up in the air, “You win.”

Celeste was the winner of every worst mother-in-law competition there ever was. No contest. Thankfully, we’d been married for nearly five years and managed to only sight her on significant holidays. I was a constant disappointment in all matters relating to the welfare of her precious son. And now, worst of all, I couldn’t produce the longed-for Grandchildren.

She relished poking her fingers into the open wound, twisting.

Duncan, Wallace, and Bianca, Wallace’s wife chat in the kitchen while Duncan stirs pots, chops tiny vegetables, wipes benches and Jamie Olivered’ dinner with his usual flair. Duncan was many things, but he was always the host with the most. He loved any opportunity to have friends around, show off his developing cooking skills and the chance to relax and drink with friends. He loved to play happy family. Smile. Show off. He was the perfect husband. Wasn’t he?

I certainly was far from the perfect wife.

When he was home, he developed his burgeoning cooking skills crafting strangely extravagant meals. Lobster, homemade egg pasta with truffle oil, duck in a myriad of ways. When he was away, I was rarely bothered to cook the toast before eating it. I was known at times to stand in the kitchen and eat dry ramen over the sink to catch the crumbs, with wine.

Always with wine.

“Has he been home more lately?” Mac questions, tilting her head, watching me.

“No, not really. With the election in three months, he’s in the office until at least ten most nights. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all and sleeps there. Not that I mind, more room in the bed,” I shrug.

Mac gives me a sideways glance.

“Really, it’s all good,” I reassure her. Pouring us another wine. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Uh Huh,” she nods

Duncan had been running for re-election as Mayor. After finishing his first term as the youngest Mayor in Neptune, he’d been working hard on ‘cleaning up the city’ and succeeding. The Kane name had bolstered his reputation and meant he was a shoo-in for his first term. He thrived on it, the power, the responsibility, and dove headfirst into being everything the town needed him to be. He was the master of being precisely what other people wanted him to be.

“Okay, so who is the mystery guest?” Mac queries, eyebrows raised.

“No clue, he won’t tell me. He’s running around like it's Santa Claus,” the kids pop their heads out from under the table, looking excitedly at me.

“Sorry kiddos, don’t think Santa will come _here_ for dinner tonight,” I grin. “But, who knows what Uncle Duncan has in store?”

The kids duck back under the table.

Mac looks at me. Into me.

“Any news?” she is tentative.

I breathe out slowly.

“Got my period yesterday,” I mutter quietly, peering through the glass panels to watch Duncan in the kitchen.

Sadness fills Mac’s eyes; she reaches her hand out onto mine and squeezes it. I know she wants to hug me but doesn’t want to make a scene.

I blink quickly. Clearing the sudden welling in my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just… done, I just … “ I can’t finish the sentence and look out to the ocean. The spectacular balmy night, sun dipping towards the water.

It had been our fourth IVF round. Unsuccessful.

Three years of this. Yearning, aching, desperate to have a child. All for nothing.

Disappointment envelopes me. Warms me like a blanket. I’m used to it now.

I’d never really been that bothered about kids, especially in my twenties. It just seemed like a future that I couldn’t envision for myself. I turned 31 with little fanfare; Duncan and I went to a fancy restaurant for dinner and came home to an empty apartment. As soon as we got in the door Duncan went to his office, put on his reading glasses, and resumed his never-ending pile of work. I stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by silence.

I wanted _more._

Duncan leaped at the idea. Of course! A mayor with a little family. He could see it instantly. But after a year of trying, suddenly it wasn’t so fun anymore. It was appointments, and injections, and mood swings and pressure. Constant worry. Financial worry. Sex wasn’t fun anymore. It was loaded. It became tainted with the pressure, the expectation.

We hadn’t had sex in months.

Combining being the new town mayor with the strains of trying for a family took its toll quickly. There was an ever present expectation to show my face at luncheons, dinner parties and openings. I struggled with these at the best of times, hardly a schmoozing kinda gal. Duncan needed me to be there to support him. So that’s what I did, at least at the start. But cracks had appeared recently. I didn’t have the energy most of the time to schmooze with the townsfolk, so I’d become a mastermind of excuses.

He had his life. I had my life.

We were attempting to coexist somewhere in the middle.

Some weeks we would barely cross each other’s paths, except when he’d breeze in for the IVF rounds, then disappear again in a barrage of excuses about important meetings. But like tonight, Duncan was putting on a show, a guise that we were the stable, fated couple who ate delicious food each night and laughed with our friends.

Not the lonely truth.

We were barely a couple, and we couldn’t seem to make a family. It was eating away at us.

Constantly gnawing.

“I suspect that’s why he thought this impromptu dinner party was a good idea.”

Mac nods, “Distraction technique.”

“Yep, just not sure if he’s trying to distract himself or me? Both?” I shrug.

“Can we go out to lunch tomorrow? Talk alone?” Mac asks.

I nod. Yes, that would be a much better place to talk. Not that I had anything much left in me to talk about it anymore. I was tired of it all, so tired.

“Veronica,” Duncan yells from the kitchen, “Where is the dressing for the salad?”

“In the fridge,” I yell back.

“No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

Mac smirks, knowing. She’s married, she _gets it._

“Let me look,” interjects Wallace, always the peacekeeper. Sensing that I was not moving from my chair to come and search for said dressing, which I was _certain_ was going to be in the fridge.

“Here it is,” he passes it to Duncan as I watch through the glass. Duncan smiles at him but wouldn’t turn to look at me.

Ahh, married life, such a wondrous land.

There is a knock at the door. Mac and I look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“I’ll get it” Duncan sing-songs and heads to the door. Everyone exchanges questioning glances.

I had to admit, I was curious.

Duncan opens the door, and it takes a moment before I could see. He’s hugging someone, and they’re slapping each other on the back. He’s tall, broad, hair cut short. And then I see it.

Clearly.

Logan Echolls.

Mac looks at me, eyes like saucers, “Fuck!” she splutters almost spitting out her wine.

I can’t help but stare, like I’ve just seen a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments. This is my first fic. I've been sitting on it for a while, unsure of when/if to hit 'post'. I had a few wines and figured 'what the hell.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

We were strolling down memory lane, as you do when you’ve had a protracted pause in the high-school friendship group.

Logan Echolls was the missing link, it seemed.

The dinner table on the small balcony was full, full of food, bursting with bodies and wine and laughter. The children were inside, enjoying dinner on their laps while watching a movie.

“Oh man, remember that time that you got taped to the flagpole, Wallace. Welcome to Neptune!” more laughter erupted.

Logan is seated next to Wallace, occasionally slapping his back while recounting more wild tales from Neptune High’s good old days - if you could possibly call them that.

He seems different. More relaxed. Confident. Calmer.

Broader, definitely broader.

Wearing snugly fit denim jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Hair cropped short, brown. The beginnings of a beard tickling his jaw.

I sit across from him, forcing a smile onto my face. Laughing at all the old stories. Thankfully, political life had trained me well. Just smile, Veronica. Don’t stop smiling.

It was hot. Too many bodies, too much noise.

Too close.

“Tell me tales of what I’ve missed in sunny Neptune,” Logan says.

“Oh the usual crime and general debauchery,” Mac replies, deadpan.

“Hey!” says Mayor Kane, affronted.

“Clean up the town all you want, my dear, but it’s still Neptune,” I say.

“Wallace works at Neptune High now,” Mac says.

“Awesome, is Van Clemmons still there?” Asks Logan.

“No, he retired not long after we finished, actually, he had a mild heart attack and decided it was time,” says Wallace.

“I think we can all agree that was your doing, Echolls,” I finally say, finger pointed.

Logan picks up his wine and faces me, properly, for the first time.

I hold my breath.

So far I’d been avoiding looking directly at him, like staring into the sun. It could only do damage. I had to make contact, those brown eyes, locked onto mine. Burnt caramel, flecks of gold.

“Lies, model student, right here,” he scoffs, double thumbs to his chest.

“Clearly you’ve had too much wine, Mars, it’s affecting your recall.”

“It’s _Kane_ now,” I say. Logan’s eyes flicker but he ignores my interjection.

“Alas, my vertically challenged friend, don’t discount your own participation in his early retirement.”

“I was a fucking peach,” I say, smiling.

He shakes his head, “Delusion has many faces, even cute ones.”

Mac interrupts, “I think we _all_ can take some responsibility for it,” she pauses, “except for Duncan, who without a doubt brown-nosed his way to the top.”

“Hey!” pouts Duncan before laughing.

Logan heaps more potatoes onto his plate.

“Look at us, despite sometimes questionable childhood antics. We all turned out okay, didn’t we? We’re gainfully employed, all married, living reasonably normal lives,” he looks around the table.

Logan coughs.

“Yeah D, sorry to rain on your parade... no longer married,” he interjects. Everyone looks at him, mouths agape.

My eyes instantly travel to his bare ring finger. _How did I miss that?_

“Shit! Sorry Logan,” says Mac.

“Ahh that’s okay, it’s been a while now. The divorce only officially went through last Spring, but we’ve been separated for a long time.”

Separated. Divorced. A lump forms in my throat, I try to swallow it but it won’t go down.

I immediately stand and start gathering the empty plates. I need to do something with my hands. I’m clanging knives and scraping off scraps while he continues.

“Marriage just wasn’t what we imagined, I think. We were too young. Of course, the Navy didn’t help. She hated that I was away all the time.”

Mac puts her hand over mine gently and nods her head, silently instructing me to sit. I obey. I pick up my wine glass and take a desperate gulp. Logan’s eyes flick to mine again.

“Where are you based now?” asks Wallace.

“Nowhere. After Christmas, I was honorably discharged. I was offered a part share in a private security company run by a few Navy buddies, so I felt like it was the right time for me to leave. I’m actually here because I’m heading up the Southern California division. So Neptune will be my home again.”

Congratulations went around the table.

Sweat trickled down my back, slowly curving its way along my spine.

Neptune. Logan’s _home_.

I sit back into my chair, letting the sweat soak into my shirt.

“So you better get used to me at dinner parties now, feel free to set me up with any fine single mums from school.”

I involuntarily snort.

“Do you take issue with that, Veronica?” he challenges.

“I just figured you’d be more interested in hitting up the colleges, looking for some fresh young meat? Isn’t that what guys do after a divorce?” I remark, it comes out a little more bitterly than I’d anticipated.

“I think I’ll leave the college girls well enough alone.”

Wallace looks at Bianca, “We know a great woman from our PTA, we’ll have to introduce you.”

Logan rubs his hands together with a smile, “I look forward to it,” and drinks his wine.

“Geez man, when was the last time we saw you? It seems like forever!” Wallace asks.

Logan pretends to think. His eyes hit mine for a tenth of a second. It was so swift I wasn’t sure it even happened.

Five years. It was almost five years ago, but of course, he knows that.

“Wasn’t it at the bachelor party, just before the wedding?” says Bianca.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says casually.

“And then you bailed on the actual wedding,” cut Duncan, scolding Logan. “Don’t think we haven’t forgotten that! I’m still pissed man.”

Logan looks down, picking at his fingers.

“I got called to duty, and you know what it’s like. I couldn’t really say no,” when he raises his eyes, I see it. Sadness, guilt, fear. It was there. Hidden. But still there.

“Well, we really missed you, man, it was a great day,” Duncan stares at him, starry-eyed. Remembering.

We all nod in unison. Our wedding day was a great day, despite it all, despite the gaping hole left by the lack of a best man. I relaxed, had fun. Gave into fate and the plans we’d made.

Duncan starts clearing the plates, so I pick up my collection and follow him into the kitchen more than happy for some much-needed respite.

At the sink, I run the tap and rinse the plates. Duncan opens the dishwasher to load them in. We are like a well-oiled machine.

Rinse, stack, rinse, stack.

“I offered Logan to stay here for a few days while he’s waiting for his apartment to settle, is that okay?” Duncan looks up at me.

“Ummm sure,” I am taken aback.

I stare into the dishes like they hold the answers to the universe. This was not a good idea. Duncan feels my trepidation. 

“Come on. He was your best friend for years. I thought it would be good for you for both of you to spend some time together. You spend all day in this house. You could do with some company. He’s good fun, remember? Go out, have some drinks, relax.”

I turn and see Logan standing in the doorway. Our eyes lock. 

“Seriously, I can get a hotel. I already had one lined up, but Duncan insisted,” Logan holds up his hands in surrender.

I shake my head. “No, no, of course not. We have plenty of room here. Please stay.”

Logan grins.

“Excellent, it’s settled then!” Duncan seems relieved. People-pleasing until the end.

“I’ll be working anyway, so I’ll say out of your hair. The settlement is Thursday. I should have keys on Friday.”

Duncan leaves the kitchen to collect more plates.

Logan moves forward, leaning his hip against the counter. I hold a dripping plate in my hand.

“So we’re roomies again, just like college?” He says, picking up some forks and placing them in the cutlery holder.

“It appears so. At least there’s no homework this time.”

“Don’t disagree, homework was never my forte.”

“No, your college forte was focused on making your way through the entire sorority.”

“You could say it was my major.”

“With a minor in annoyance,” I add.

“No wonder I graduated with honors.” 

We both smile. I put down the plate I’m holding.

“You look good Logan, you look happy.”

“It’s years of salt air."

“So no uniform anymore? Disappointing…” I say.

More grinning. He picks up some forks and places them in the cutlery holder.

“True, I’ve still got it though, I could…”

“No,” I put up my hand, “All good, regular clothes are more than fine.” Oh god. Shut up, Veronica.

Shut. Up.

I want to shove the words back in.

Another shit-eating grin. Brown eyes, smiling.

“Right.” I stack in the dripping dish, “More wine?” I grab a bottle out of the fridge and bee-line back for the balcony.

\-------

The house is quiet again, the guests all gone.

I open up the spare room, deposit some fresh towels on the bed and smooth out the sheets. Logan follows behind with his duffel bag, looking around.

“Towels, bed, bathroom down the hall. Help yourself to anything for breakfast. I can help you with the coffee machine in the morning. It’s temperamental. Sorry, there is no cool air at the moment, I’ll call them again tomorrow. There is a fan.” I point up. I wipe the sweat from my brow again. So hot. He doesn’t seem to feel it, or if he does, it doesn’t show.

“Cool, thanks,” he flings his duffel onto the bed and starts unzipping it.

“Okay, Goodnight,” I turn to leave.

“I can leave if you want V. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m here. I’m not sure why I thought I was ready to come back.”

“Stay, Logan. It’s fine. Everyone is so glad you’re back.” I pause, “I’m glad you’re back.”

He smiles, running his hand back and forth on the crisp, clean sheets beside him.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

I want to tell him that I missed him, my friend. I missed him like a phantom limb that hasn’t faded after five years. The ache of it permeates through my entire body but, like always, I stay silent. 

I hear a cupboard opening in the room beside me and we both look to the wall, reminded that Duncan, my husband, was behind that very wall. 

It’s my cue to leave. 

“Veronica… “

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

I stare at him, questioning. He’s wringing his hands together, over and over. A familiar nervous trait.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m sorry I missed your wedding. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA. Things just got…” He hesitates momentarily, “I needed to get myself in order, my life, my marriage.” He laughs, a little bitterly, “Not that much of anything could have saved that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I was a shitty friend. I’m sorry.” He looks sincere, sad.

I wave my hand away, “bygones.” He nods.

I leave the room, walk to mine and collapse on the bed. Duncan is propped up on pillows reading through his paperwork, glasses on.

He doesn’t speak, neither do I.

I put on an old t-shirt, climb under the covers and face the wall, squinting my eyes shut.

“Night,” he says.

“Night.”

I’m scared to open my eyes because I don’t want to look at the wall and think about who is lying on the other side.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not like our friendship was complicated. It was easy.

Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Logan, Duncan, Lilly and I had battled through middle school in the Neptune way. Lazy days spent around mansion pools, sunburned bikini lines watching the boys surf an endless stream of California waves. Logan and Lilly had cemented their relationship as Sophomores, Duncan and I took a little longer to find our connection in Junior year. 

When Lilly died in a car accident at seventeen we reeled, devastated by the loss of a sister, a girlfriend, a friend. 

Darkness descended on us like a thunderous cloud. We all dealt with it in our own ways. Duncan withdrew, I rebelled, and Logan raged. We splintered, spiraling alone in our grief.

In school hallways, I walked alone for the first time. But thankfully, I found Wallace, then Mac, who helped to slowly dig me out of my hole. 

It took some time before we found our way back to each other. Duncan had asked, begged to meet up again, promising just one coffee.

I relented.

Logan refused.

Back in our comfort zone, facing the same loss, Duncan and I settled back into our relationship. He was a known force in my new unknown world. He understood my sadness without having to ask, a comfort when I needed it the most. Duncan never challenged me to be anything more than I was, so I snuggled into that simplicity and security.

Logan continued to destroy himself, taking down anyone in his path. He plastered the pain with alcohol and recklessness. Eventually, he too crashed his car, drunk, into a tree. We wondered if he wanted to end it all, to be with Lilly. He broke six ribs, his collarbone, his leg and had suffered internal bleeding. When he woke, Duncan and I were there. We were his family, whether he wanted us or not.

We rebuilt. Best friends again.

When college started, we shared a house and lived together until graduation. That house was filled with raucous parties, sand that seemed to appear on every surface and pockets of study. Then, there were moments of lull, between semesters. Summers of strangely heightened emotions, where Duncan was away on internships and Logan and I shared a couch, his outstretched leg brushing my own. An endless stream of movies, snack breaks, never-ending snark. He would bait me constantly, challenging me in our patented word battles. 

It was platonic. I’m sure it was nothing more to him. But slowly, gradually, I started to realize that I lived for that banter. I began to crave it. To crave him. His devious smirk, his dark eyes, his stare. But Duncan was there, and I was with Duncan.

In the second year of college, Logan started dating Parker. But the banter didn’t stop. Sometimes I wished it would. A brush of a finger with the pass of a beer, a nudge in the hallways, toothpaste messages back and forth on the shower screen. It was my oxygen. If it meant anything to him, he certainly never gave it away.

Once, we had all poured into a cab, already drunk and headed for a club. It was Logan’s 21st Birthday. We were celebrating, in excess, Echolls style. My skirt was too short, my heels too high. I could barely walk. Vodkas all around.

Another round.

Another round.

Parker and I were dancing, hands high above our heads, grinding, swaying together in the darkness. My hips moved back and forth, following the music. I was feeling sexy, acting sexy.

Then, my eyes found his. He was watching us, hooded, intense. I realized he wasn’t watching Parker.

He was watching _me._

I danced a little slower, moved my hips a little deeper. I pressed my legs together to try and dampen the ache. Parker turned to me and mouthed “Bathroom,” over the booming music and stumbled off the floor.

Logan stood slowly and walked towards the dance floor. My heart started beating faster. I could feel the pulse in my neck. I didn’t stop dancing. I couldn’t stop moving. He approached from behind and wrapped his arms around me, resting his hands on my hip bones. We moved together. Back and forth, he turned his face into my neck and breathed, strained, into my ear, almost a groan. Guttural. My eyes involuntarily closed. He started grinding into my rear, I could feel him. _All_ of him.

Hard.

I was filled with one feeling only. Want. 

“You’re killing me,” he whispered, voice low. I could barely hear it above the music.

I grinned.

“You’re _always_ killing me,” he breathed.

I wanted to turn around, to face him. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t look at those eyes. I didn’t think I’d be able to stop myself, On a dancefloor, with Duncan at the bar and Parker in the bathroom.

It continued to build.

We started to move, slowly, towards the back of the dancefloor, to the wall. Behind the crowd, away from the bar. Hidden.

It’s all a dance. We’re _just dancing_ I kept telling myself.

His hand put pressure on my hipbone and tried to turn me, turn me to face him.

“Look at me,” his lips grazed my neck.

I shake my head.

“Please,” he pressed himself into me, harder.

I tilted my head backward so I could reach his ear to speak, to tell him ‘no’, to tell him ‘yes’? I don’t even know. His eyes found mine.

I can’t breathe.

“I can’t,” I shook my head again.

“But it’s my birthday,” he growled, almost pleading.

How could I say no to the Birthday Boy?

I turned, surrendering. His hands moved to my waist, tight. “Okay, but only because it’s your birthday,” feigning a shrug: those brown eyes, hooded, yearning. Boring into mine, I couldn’t look away.

He ran his hand up my waist, light as a feather, dusting across my breasts and wrapped his palm around the base of my neck, his thumb gently caressed my collarbone. My head involuntarily tilted back.

I had lost all control. Crackles of electricity seemed to come from his fingertips, leaving goosebumps over my skin in their wake.

How can a touch feel like _this?_ Never, have I _ever_ felt a touch like this.

“Did you know,” his lips were back at my ear, “there is only one thing I want for my birthday, only one thing I’ve _ever_ wanted?” he hid his lips in my hair, gently kissing the base of my neck. Once, twice. His tongue traced towards my ear, warm. 

I swallowed, hard.

I was dying, but coming alive at the same time.

I opened my eyes to see Parker stagger back to the dancefloor, “Baby, you’re DANCING!” she yelled and ran to Logan, turning to grind against him, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards her as she danced between us.

I tried to dance. Tried to stay. Logan’s eyes turned dark. I couldn’t look at him. It was over so quickly. Did it even happen? I excused myself and headed for the bar. Taking my place next to Duncan. He was talking to someone, at someone, oblivious. He was always so oblivious. I downed another vodka and put my forehead onto the bar.

For the rest of the night, for the taxi home, as we ate greasy food the next morning, Logan wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t turn to me. Avoidance. I started to think I’d imagined it all, misread the situation, throwing myself at him. I was mortified. He withdrew.

And it was never spoken of again, written off in my mind as a drunken mistake. Emotions heightened by the vodka in my veins. We continued, uninterrupted as friends.

There were still occasional brushes of a finger, a nudge, legs touching while watching TV, and sometimes I even imagined them lingering longer than they used to.


	4. Chapter 4

I made coffee, pushed some bread into the toaster. I waited, staring into it, watching it brown. Then it popped, propelling the toast, it’s little jump shocking me.

Spreading on peanut butter, thick, I was trying, really _trying,_ to just think of peanut butter. Not of men who were now sleeping in my apartment, staying with me, for a _week._

The house was quiet, and I didn’t know if Logan was awake yet. 7.27 am. The sun was already beaming through the windows and promising to heat the already stifling rooms, so I put the toast on a plate and sat out on the balcony trying to get some breeze.

The front door closes and Logan strolls inside, earphones in and wearing workout clothes. Sweaty.

I suddenly felt sweaty too. 

He glances around and spots me on the balcony.

“Hey, I forgot how great it is to run around here, nothing but endless miles of beach,” he pulls out his headphones and rests them around his neck.

“It’s already so hot. I don’t know how you can do it!” I say, fanning myself.

He smiles. His hands grab the bottom of his tank top and pulls it up to wipe the sweat off his face. It is a move that takes all of about 2 seconds, but I’m sure time stood still. He is so muscular now, so lean. His shorts are slung low on his hips, and I can see the dusting of hair on his chest leading _all the way_ down. I fan herself harder and look out to sea.

“There’s coffee in the pot if you want some,” pointing inside.

_Please go inside._

Months of no sex has turned me into a total lush.

“Sure, I’ll grab some in a minute,” he pulls up a chair and sits next to me, casually. “Duncan sure left early this morning. I thought I heard the door close at 5.30.”

I nod, “Yeah, he always gets into the office by six, you know Mr. Organized. City plans to rubberstamp, crime to quash!”

“Bureaucracy never sleeps,” he smiles.

“Apparently not.”

“And what do you do with yourself now, Ms. Mars, still a super sleuth?”

“Mrs. _Kane_ ,” I correct him, then correct myself, “God that sounds horrible, it makes me think of Celeste.”

Logan shudders, “You’re nothing like her.”

“I mainly do freelance super-sleuthing now. A couple of years ago Mac put me in touch with some friends at some Law Firms in San Diego. So I’m on retainer with them to do investigative work when they need it. I go down there once or twice a fortnight depending on what they need from me. Mostly I’m afforded autonomy to work from home. It’s cheaper for them that way.”

“Sounds like a pretty good deal. Hopefully, you’re dealing with some slightly more savory characters than you did in your younger years?”

“Yeah, mainly white-collar crime. It’s pretty boring stuff, digging into files, public records, tax records. Most of the time, I’m chasing a money trail, not a human trail. Plain old vanilla crime.”

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“I was working as an investigator for the DA, which was incredible. But after getting slightly entangled in a few murder cases, it was kindly suggested that I best separate myself from such public matters.”

“Suggested by?”

“A few prominent councilmen. Anything linking me too close to those kinds of cases was not considered acceptable for a wife of someone in public office.”

He scrutinizes me, but doesn’t say anything. I drink the dregs of my coffee, avoiding eye contact.

“What about you, Mr. Echolls, what does ‘Private Security’ entail?”

“Oh, you know. I’m probably going to be the person hired by your white-collar criminals as security detail. Mainly high profile cases, dealing with large event logistics. That sort of thing. As you might say, _plain old vanilla_ security. Nothing too risky.” He winks.

I nod, strongly doubting his business risk analysis.

He glances at his watch, “Shit, I’ve gotta go. I’m going to jump in the shower.” Bouncing from his chair and leaving me on the balcony with a bright, Echolls smile.

I pick up my plate and coffee cup and head back to the kitchen.

\----------------

“What do you think has inspired this sudden return to Neptune?” Mac queries, sticking a fork into her pasta and twirling it around, shoveling it into her mouth.

“He says it’s for work, but I don’t know, it just seems a bit sudden. Five years of nothing, then he’s back. Staying in MY APARTMENT!” I shake my head, “To be honest, it all feels a bit weird, are we all supposed just to pretend he didn’t drop off the face of the planet all this time?”

“It certainly felt like he removed himself on purpose.”

“Hmmm,” I nod between mouthfuls of garlic bread.

“Can I speculate?” Mac asks.

“Nope.” I shake my head.

“Are you sure?” she looks at me, knowingly, but leaves well enough alone.

“He looks _good,”_ she waggles her eyebrows, “Divorce sometimes has a way of improving a man.”

I laugh, “Mac, you are trouble.”

She nods in confirmation and doesn’t dispute this fact. 

“Those biceps... “ she muses staring into the air, “that unshaved beard…”

I wholly realize that she is baiting me.

“How are the kids?” I ask, distracting her, or at least attempting too. I certainly didn’t require Mac to point out all the redeeming attributes of a thirty-something Logan Echolls for me - I have eyes.

“I certainly don’t want to talk about the kids while I’m enjoying a nice adult lunch with you.” More pasta went in, “They’re fine by the way, nothing new to report. The usual. Fighting, yelling, mess, meh.”

I know Mac doesn’t like talking much about the kids with me. 

Of crouse, Mac could tell what I was thinking, “Are you okay? Really? Are you going to try another round of IVF?”

I shook my head. “No, the doctor thought that three tries were as good an option as any. We can’t keep going forever. The hormones made me crazy, I was a human pincushion. I don’t think it’s going to happen this way for us. Maybe we need to start looking for a surrogate? I don’t know,” I sighed. “We’re about $75,000 down at the moment. Sometimes it feels like throwing money down the drain.”

“Wow,” blanched Mac. I nod.

“I think I need a rest from it all. The hormones, the waiting. It’s just all stress. I need to try and relax, think about something else for a change.”

Mac smirks.

“Maybe, Veronica, the universe knew e _xactly_ what it was that you needed and sent it right to your doorstep?”

“Don’t you start!” I warn.

She cackles. “Oh, don’t tell me you hadn’t thought of it already.”

Maybe I had. Maybe I hadn’t?

\--------------

I open the door, put my handbag down on the bench and am greeted up close by Logan.

He should come with a warning, or maybe a cat-bell around his neck.

“Mars, where have you been?”

Still shocked by his up close greeting and general presence in my doorway, I reply, “Lunch with Mac, did I need permission?”

“No, no, no. Sorry,” he settles himself “I’ve just had a call to go and look at some office space downtown. I could do with a second set of eyes. Will you come?”

He puts on his super-please face. Doe eyes pleading.

How do you say no to that?

I glance at my laptop, then back to him. I have a deadline to submit research on phone records by tomorrow.

“Come on V, live a little, play hookey for just a few hours,” he picks up my handbag and slings it onto my shoulder.

“It’s always you luring me to the dark side. It’s amazing I ever got any work done at college.”

“I can’t help it. You’re so fun to distract and annoy.”

It seems I’m going with Logan without confirming it verbally because I’m locking the door and following him out to the car like a trail of breadcrumbs.

We walk through the car lot. I start looking around for the Xterra. Force of habit. He leads me over to a black Chrysler.

“What are you smirking about?” He queries.

“Oh, nothing. _This_ seems much more subdued than your formative years. A lot less … yellow.” 

After his car accident in the yellow Xterra, he replaced it with _another_ yellow Xterra. 

He pats the roof. “This, my dear, is a rental. I still have to buy a car. Parker got mine in the divorce, and I haven’t really needed one since I was never home.”

We get inside. “But thank you for reminding me,” his hands circle the steering wheel, “I might have to go back to my roots and get a nice big truck.”

“Is that really appropriate for a partner in a security agency, aren’t you supposed to go under the radar? Cause less attention, not more?”

He starts the engine, “Good point, Veronica. See, that’s why I’m bringing you along today. You rein supreme as my voice of reason.”

“Oh, Goodie.”

We drive downtown. The traffic isn’t terrible, and we make good time. Logan chats, effortlessly. Not stopping. He talks like no time was ever lost, as if he’d just been on holiday and returned. I realize that in reality, he knows very little about my life now. He doesn’t know anything about what I’d been through in the last five years. Dare I say it, but I wasn’t the same person then. To be honest, I’m not sure I know who I am now. Logan doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems to think I was still the same old Veronica Mars and treats me as such. So maybe, just today, I would enjoy the simple old-school banter and relax.

He pulls into the car park of a double story office building located in a small industrial estate. A nice quiet area without much graffiti. The real-estate agent leans against his car, waiting with phone in hand. We step out of the vehicle.

“Logan Echolls?” the agent asks, holding out his hand.

“Daniel, nice to meet you,” Logan’s voice switches instantaneously, he is now in _business-mode_. “This is Veronica,” he gestures to me, and Daniel shakes my hand.

“Come on through guys. I’ll show you around.” We follow him through the roller door into the main warehouse area as he sprouts feet squared, space and storage options. I look around. It seems nice and spacious. He takes us through the office rooms, five in total with a large central area, reception space and lunchroom. Logan is stalking around the space, inspecting, asking lots of crucial questions. I blink twice when I see him take out a small notepad and jot down room measurements and notes for his business partner.

I guess a lot has changed since I had known him last. He had always been quite frivolous, growing up a privileged and excessively wealthy son of a movie star. Even in college, he floated through life, one fun escapade to the next. After he lost his inheritance and trust fund, he was forced to make some hard decisions. They certainly seem to have paid off. A life in the Navy, a decorated fighter pilot. I guess, I just didn’t know _this_ Logan. I hadn’t had exposure to him over the years. My brain was taking some time to equate Logan _then_ and Logan _now_.

I had to admit. Logan now was growing on me.

I just wished I got to see the interim.

“I’ll give you some time to chat to the wife, feel free to take your time and I’ll meet you back in the lot,” Daniel says and walks out the door.

Logan looks at me, eyebrows raised and wiggling. “Wife, eh?”

I glare back at him, “I think I feel your second divorce looming.”

The corner of his mouth cracks into a smirk.

“What do you think?” he paces out the room dimensions with long strides and writes more figures on his notepad.

“Looks good to me. Clean, no evidence of rodents, nice and spacious, easy access. How many people do you think will work in the office?”

“Most of the other satellite offices run on about five to six staff, so we’re planning to start with myself and two others until we can secure some more contracts.”

“Sounds like it’s perfect then.”

Nodding, he and scopes out the rooms one more time, taking photos and returns to find me in the perched on a chair in the lunchroom.

“Well, _wife_ , shall we go? We’d better make it home for some snuggle time before the nanny comes back with the kids.”

“Oh dear, don’t be silly, you know we only pencil in snuggle time once a month, when Alfonz my yoga instructor is away.”

“Damn that Alfonz and his limber ways.”

I ignore him, “What are they asking for rent?”

“I think $4500 a month.”

I follow him out to the parking lot.

Daniel is waiting, playing with his phone again.

“Thoughts?”

Logan steps forward, “I think it would suit us perfectly. Can we get the paperwork for me to run past my partner?”

“How long has it been vacant for?” I interrupt.

Daniel flinches a little. “I’m not sure,” he looks through his paperwork quickly. Flicking pages, “Since….. about nine months.”

“Nine months?” I repeat, feigning shock, “that’s a long time unoccupied. Personally, I think $4500 a month is asking too much.”

Daniel looks to Logan, then gives me a brief sideways glance. A deep grin is forming on Logan’s face.

“Also, I saw some wiring in the warehouse that looked questionable at best, that would need to be replaced. It’s a fire hazard, and there’s no way we’d be able to get an insurance inspector past that.”

Logan leans back against the car, giving me full rein to negotiate on his behalf.

Daniel’s demeanor hardens. He was expecting an easy day. “I’ll have to speak with the owners, I’m not sure about the price, they said it’s firm.”

“Well, give them a call now,” I turn to Logan, “Logan, when can you take over the lease?”

He thinks for a moment. “We’re ready immediately.”

“Great, we can occupy as soon as we can get the paperwork settled. I think $4000 a month is a fair price, and on the condition of an electrician fixing the wiring and pest inspection,” The estate agent looks to me, then to Logan. Back to me. Finally, he dials his phone and walks to the corner of the lot to make the call.

“We?” Logan muses, clearly amused.

I shrug, “Hey, you wanted me to be _your_ wife.”

His face beams. “See, _this_ is why I brought you along. You’re made for this.”

I curtsey.

“Investigator _and_ shrewd businesswoman, you’re making me swoon, wifey.”

Logan and I wait for Daniel’s return. He leans against the car. His body so long. We don’t speak, he just looks at me. It’s awkward and a little confronting, but I like it. 

Daniel returns after some negotiating. “Okay, if you can occupy within the week, two months’ rent in advance they will accept your offer.”

They shake on it, and he leaves with promises to email over the paperwork this afternoon.

“Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?”

“I guess you could twist my arm,” because, of course, how does one say _no_ to a drink with Logan Echolls?

I’m not ready to go home, not yet.

We drive through downtown and back to the beach, pulling up next to a row of restaurants and coffee shops across the road from the water. I know exactly where Logan was taking me. We walk in silence to one of our old hangouts ‘Sarge’s’. As a group, we would regularly frequent it, always packed with college students, half-price Fridays, and a slack approach to checking ID. It was a glorified dive, dark and dingy with peeling, sticky countertops. As we round the corner, we both look around, a little lost.

“Um, are we on the right street?” Logan peers up and down the road. The street is almost unrecognizable from our college days.

“Geez, look at it, it’s all fancy!” the bar had been completely renovated, concertina doors opened out to sidewalk tables, soft music playing and a wall of indoor plants spilling out onto the road. It’s full of mustached, bearded twenty-somethings in button-down pressed shirts drinking espresso martinis.

“Talk about a transformation,” Logan muses, hesitating slightly.

“Well, they still sell alcohol so you can still buy me a drink,” I walk over glancing at the multiple paged menu consisting of $35 cocktails and tapas.

Logan touches the small of my back as we enter. I feel his fingertips touch me through the silk of my shirt. Large hands, long fingers. They almost burn the skin beneath the fabric. He is all physicality; I remember it now. He needs touch, it’s nothing more, nothing less. A way he communicates, a warmth about him that’s casual and attentive. Sometimes Duncan can go days without touching me. And when he does, the touches feel cold, hollow. 

We find a free table, the waiter arrives and we order drinks and a share plate of cheese. Logan orders a whiskey neat, me a dry Martini. The alcohol goes down easily, along with the conversation, so we order another. 

Logan’s eyes dance above his menu at me, “you know you still look exactly the same? It’s like you don’t age,” he leans closer, inspecting my face, fascinated.

I grimace and shrink back away from him. “Oh, boy, you’re dreaming. Let’s not talk about how many grey hairs I keep having to pull out.”

He shakes his head, unbelieving.

“Trust me, Echolls. It’s not pretty. My boobs have dropped at least an inch.”

 _Why?_ Why did I say that?

He laughs loudly, shaking his entire body.

“No way, I don’t believe it. Of course, you could always show me. You know, just to make sure,” he smirks and looks down, wiggling his eyebrows. There’s old Logan, back with a vengeance.

I roll my eyes and look back at the menu, choosing to ignore that one.

Safer.

I search for a topic on my safe list.

“Why did you _really_ leave the Navy?” I ask, relaxing back into my chair, “I just thought you loved it.”

“I did,” he pauses, thinking for a moment “you know me, Veronica, you know I’m not much of one for ranking hierarchy. And the higher I got up in ranks, the more people I had to answer to, and the more decisions I felt were out of my control.” He stops, taking a deep breath, “There was an accident. One of my men got badly injured, he was paralyzed. In the aftermath, I realized that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I felt myself getting angry again. _Really_ angry. When a friend contacted me about private work, it just seemed like the right decision. Time to get away. I’d done my time, I was free to leave. Just surf, or hang-out, or date normally. ”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

He nods, looking around the room to avoid eye contact with me.

He swiftly changes the subject. It’s clearly still raw. “Okay, if we’re playing twenty questions, tell me what it’s like to be the Mayor’s wife?” he waggles his eyebrows.

I groan. “Yeah, let’s be honest. We all knew I was never going to excel in the public eye. It’s certainly not my forte.”

He dramatically covers his mouth, feigning shock.

“Surely not, Veronica Mars,” then pauses, correcting himself, “ _Kane_. Friend to the people, always more than happy to delight her guests with tales of murder, mayhem, debauchery … the many and varied pitfalls of 09er life?”

“Duncan mostly goes to the functions solo, I tried for a little while, but I kept saying the wrong things or yelling at the wrong people. It’s better if I just stay home. I only go to the big stuff now. He can run the city, and I can live in it. Easy peasy.”

“Let’s face it. We always knew Duncan was destined for some kind of public life. You can’t be a Kane and not be _known.”_

That was true. The Kane name was certainly notorious in Neptune. And now it was _my_ name.

Lucky me.

“Duncan’s one of the good ones,” Logan smiles. “You know that. He may be a Kane, but he’s just a _nice guy_. And it sounds like you’re happy, it sounds like you grew up together and made it work.” He pauses, sipping his drink “A good husband,” he adds. It floats in the air for a minute. _Is it a statement, or a question?_ There is a slight inflection in his tone that makes me question it.

I don’t respond and mirror him, taking another drink.

“Were _you_ a good husband?” I look him in the eye, holding his gaze. By the second cocktail, I felt brave.

In my head my line of questioning was treading carefully, but the rush of the alcohol flooding my veins was blurring my filters. The filters that had wrapped around me for years now. I wanted answers, but I was too scared to ask the questions. The hard ones.

This was the next best thing - Deciphering the aftermath, the marriage I didn’t understand, the friendship I lost. 

_Why? Why? Why?_

How did we end up here?

He thinks for a moment.

“Not at the time, no,” his fingers swirl around the rim of the glass. Concentrating. “I think I was in the wrong place to get married. I was too young. We hadn’t even lived together. That was bad. We had to get used to being married but also exclusively living together for the first time.” He shakes his head, remembering. “She used to wait for me, desperate for me to come back from a tour away, then I’d come home, and bail and go out drinking. Doing stupid things. I wasn’t there for her, emotionally. And that was all she ever really wanted.”

The waiter brings over the cheeseboard, and we both stare at it. Logan pauses, waiting for him to leave.

“Did you love her?” 

He snaps his head up, then cocks it to the side. Surely he’s wondering about the sanity of my line of questioning. But I feel his honesty, and I want to keep open this line so I can try to get some answers.

He nods. “Yeah, I think so, at least for most of it. Parker _really_ loved me, which made it harder in a way. No matter how much I wasn’t there, and then when I was how much of an asshole I was, she was still there, she still supported me. Well, for a while at least.”

“You know what always got me?” I question, “Why did you marry her that weekend in Vegas? It seemed so left field. At the time you guys just seemed… I don’t know. Casual? Then suddenly you’re married. We were all so shocked.”

Logan chuckles, “You want the truth?”

I nod and wait.

Logan and Parker surprised us. We were all in Vegas for a Labor Day long weekend. In our shared enormous villa, I sat alone in the early morning sun, enjoying a quiet breakfast, looking out over the Bellagio fountains, down to the Eiffel Tower. Logan appeared beside me in silence, standing by the tall panes of glass and asked me if I was happy.

 _Really_ happy.

“Is this the life you want Veronica?” Another scorching day was blooming in blue skies, his eyes were serious and imploring.

I stared at him, pondering his question. Isn’t this the life I’d convinced myself I wanted. Stable Duncan. Easy Duncan. A life where I can depend on him, always the same.

His question remained unanswered as Duncan plodded through the door, deposited himself in the chair beside me, kissing me on the nose, wishing me a good morning. 

By the time I’d wished Duncan a good morning in return, I turned and Logan was gone. 

He proposed to Parker at the piano bar that afternoon, and they surprised us with a wedding at the Little White Chapel the next day. I sat in the wooden pews, surrounded by plastic flowers, pink ribbons. I watched the way Logan looked at Parker and exchanged his vows, and my breath hitched and a pain emanated from my chest, like a dagger. A dagger named Logan that lay dormant inside me and sliced a piece of my lung. 

When Duncan asked me to marry him months later, the answer was obvious, so obvious it seemed rehearsed, ridiculous even. My head said no, but my mouth said “Yes.”

“We were getting ready to fly to Vegas, and that afternoon I was hanging with Duncan, packing stuff for the flight, and he showed me the engagement ring he’d bought you. I don’t know. I kind of freaked out. I felt like I’d missed the memo that we were at the _marriage age._ Then, of course, I do what I always do when I’m confused? Destructive Logan appears. I drink much too much, and I convince my girlfriend that _we_ should get married in Vegas immediately.” His eyes roll at his own impulsive behavior.

I touch my hand to my chest, “I always knew Logan that you were a _true romantic_. Nothing says romance like Neil Diamond as your celebrant.”

“I am, aren’t I?” that grin.

“Now Elvis, _that_ would have been tacky.” I say.

“Neil’s all about the class.”

I think for a moment, “Wait, Duncan didn’t propose to me for like six months after your wedding!”

Logan shrugs. “What do I know? I took too little time to decide to get married, and Duncan took too long. Can’t win. He was pretty pissed at me that weekend. He told me I _stole his thunder,”_

“Yeah, that sounds like him. He probably didn’t propose just to make a point.”

We’re silent for a moment. Taking sips from fancy glasses. I notice Logan’s hands, and they look so much older. More weathered. I see the scar running down the side of his little finger down past his watchband. One of his many reminders not to drink and drive.

It’s nice to talk, back and forth. 

I speak, Logan speaks, like a tennis match back and forth. I realize this isn’t a common undertaking in our household. Duncan favors speaking at me, launching into monologues about his vision for Neptune that can last through my entire glass of wine, or two. Logan is attentive, always has been. He wants to hear what I want to say more than what he wants to tell me.

The feeling warms me from the inside, or maybe it’s the alcohol?

“Did you file for divorce, or did she?”

“Jesus, Veronica,” he runs his hands through his hair, “Why do I get the feeling I’m being interrogated?”

I shrug. Because you _are._

“She did, officially,” he takes a drink.

“Was there a tipping point, or did you _just know_ it was over?”

He picks up the knife and slices into the Brie, placing it on a cracker with a grape and pops it into his mouth. He chews slowly, thoughtfully. Then rubs his fingers together to rid them of crumbs.

“In the end, she couldn’t forgive me.”

“For what?”

“Cheating on her.”

\-----

Duncan made an effort to come home early and prepare dinner. No ramen over the sink tonight for me.

Roasted Salmon with baby potatoes and fennel was on the menu. It was quite the fanfare.

I set the table inside as it was a little milder tonight.

“How did you go today?” Duncan queries, placing the full plates in front of us. I had to admit; it looks and smells pretty amazing. Logan’s face agreed.

“Excellent. All signed off on the office space. Ronnie here pulled through and harassed the poor man into giving me a good deal.”

Duncan’s eyebrows raised and looks at me “I’ve still got it,” I reassure him with a smile.

“I never doubted you, love,” he puts his hand on mine and pats it. I see Logan look away, focusing on his salmon.

Duncan is treading carefully with me. Every time we had another negative pregnancy test, he became softer, gentler, treating me a little like a glass that may slip out of his fingers and smash at any moment. To be honest, I felt that way sometimes myself. But, of course, when we have been through this process multiple times, all I can feel is resentment. It grates on me, and even thinking about it makes the tendons in my neck tense.

The evening is filled with much more light, reminiscent conversation. We’d had enough serious talk over lunch. Beer and wine flow freely. Duncan starts to recount the thrilling tale of his first election win, “against all the odds,” as he likes to tell it, and that’s my cue to get up and clear the table.

“Don’t Veronica,” Logan’s hand is on mine, “You guys have given me a place to crash, the least I can do is the dishes,” he takes them from my hands, so I sit back down and pour another wine. Duncan collects the glasses while they move into the kitchen.

I can hear them, “So are you seeing anyone, since Parker?” Asks Duncan. “No,” Logan pauses. “I was with someone for a little while, Samantha, but it just wasn’t going anywhere. I’m getting to the point I need someone who I want to be in it for the long haul.”

“Look at you, Logan Echolls, wanting to settle down? Man, if I told the Logan I knew in high school that you were the first of us to get married and the one who wants to settle down for the ‘long haul’ you would have punched me.” Duncan grins with disbelief.

Logan sighs, “I would have punched myself,” they laugh, dishes clanging into the dishwasher.

“What’s Parker doing now?”

“She’s got a new guy, Matt. He seems nice. They’ve got a one-year-old girl, Callie.”

“That’s good. I always had time for Parker; she was a good egg.” Duncan comes back in and collects the napkins. Logan nods.

“What about you guys?” Logan follows Duncan in, “Are kids on the table for the future?”

It’s an innocent question. When people ask they’re just being nice, making conversation.

Duncan gives me a trepidatious side-eye.

I nod, permitting him to share.

“We’ve been trying, for a few years now,” he pauses and puts his hand reassuringly on my shoulder, “we might start looking at surrogate options soon.”

I groan and escape from under his arm, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I open another bottle of beer. Logan, brows raised seems to feel the animosity on the subject.

He eyes me with sympathy, “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no. It’s fine, really. It’s just been a long road, and it’s mostly filled with shitty times and shitty medical tests and money down the drain. So we’re just tired of it, tired of thinking about it, tired of talking about it.” I take a big gulp of my beer and turn my face away. I don’t want to look at either of them.

Duncan sits down and takes a deep breath. “Okay, enough depressing talk.” He rubs his hands together, changing the subject. “I want to know something about you, Logan.”

Concern shadows Logan’s face, masked with a raised brow. “Okay.”

“I want to know why you felt like not only ditching the wedding of your two best friends, but then falling off the face of the planet for five years. Did we do something?”

Logan pauses, his eyes meeting mine ever so briefly.

Yes, Logan, why did you bail? I want to hear the answer, but I also don’t.

He looks to the floor.

I decide to step in, to save him, to save myself, “Leave it alone, Duncan, I’m sure he had his reasons.”


	5. Chapter 5

***Flashback - 5 Years earlier***

Duncan and I had made a deal. We had decided to have our Bachelorette and Bachelor parties on the same night. As so many of Duncan’s family had traveled from across the country, we kept it close to the wedding, so they only had to make one trip to Neptune.

Of course, this had its benefits. But also its drawbacks.

The battles began; over Logan. He was _both_ our best friends. He’d been in the Navy for three years and had been away on tour most of the time, so the idea that he wasn’t able to spend the night celebrating with us both was contentious. We finally came up with a compromise. Duncan could have him until 10 pm, and then he could come to my Bachelorette for the rest of the evening.

“Are you saying, I get to come and witness the inner workings of multiple _fine_ females as the only male at a Bachelorette party?” hand to his chest, he looked ready to faint. “Will there be pillow fights?” He crossed both his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Dude, you’re married,” Duncan scolded.

“True, but there is certainly no harm in being a bystander. I could pass more pillows, fluff them, hold the underwear?”

“Chill guys, I’m like 99% sure that it will be pillow fight free,” I said.

“I live for that 1% Mars,” he replied with a devious wink.

“And who is to say you will be the only male there?” Mac interrupted, “There might be a nice policeman, fireman or postal worker to keep us company with some tasteful dancing.”

I screwed up my nose, “Postal worker? Mac, you know how I feel about surprises, please don’t surprise me with a Postal worker stripper.”

“Yeah, you know she has a thing for men in Navy uniform,” Logan quipped.

Mac snorted, “You wish buddy.”

“It’s Veronica’s big night, I think she gets to choose her stripper’s outfit and I’m certain she would choose a Navy uniform,” Logan said back to Mac.

“I’m standing right here.”

They both looked at me, brows furrowed.

“Could I ever forget you’re beside me, V?” Logan wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me against him in a friendly hug.

“But also, tell Mac you want a Navy boy.”

Duncan just shook his head. Sometimes I wished he would care about the banter. Show a little jealousy. He had been conditioned over so many years with this kind of back and forth between us that it barely registered anymore. He believed that his love was all I needed. Always.

He trusted me completely. The truth was, I just never really trusted myself with Logan.

And, of course, Logan was married now. Happily, it seemed. He and Parker had been married for around 18 months after the infamous Vegas weekend of surprises. Of which, we were all undoubtedly surprised. Myself, maybe most of all.

“Will Parker still make it for the wedding?” Duncan asked.

“She’s planning on finishing up work tomorrow night and driving down.” Logan and Parker lived in Los Angeles now. It was where Parker worked in PR for celebrities, and Logan could be closer to the Northern Los Angeles naval base.

Mac walked up to Logan and handed him a card, “This has the information on the location and things you need to know. Do NOT share this information with the tiny blonde one,” she pointed at me, “it is a surprise, and she needs to let go of control for one night and relax and enjoy. See you at 10,” She smiled then glared, came close and whispered to me, “Don’t you dare try to fish information out of him, he is weak to your charms, and you know it.”

Logan squinted. Did he hear that?

“See you tonight girls and _boy_ , have a fun night Duncan!” she waved and was out the door.

\-------

I glanced at the clock. 10.22.

“I saw that!” Mac mouthed at me across the room. I took another big drink.

We’d been playing bridal games, eating takeout and drinking large cocktails with phallus straws. I was still wearing my toilet paper veil, adorned with beautiful penis stickers across the headband.

Finally, there was a knock at the door. Logan had arrived, clearly already tipsy, animatedly talking to Mac and charming all the girls.

“Do not fear ladies, your entertainment is here!” he announced.

I pulled up next to Mac, “please tell me he is not our stripper.”

“Yeah right, you’d _really_ hate that,” she looked at me, knowingly.

“Oh shut up,” I snapped, “Bygones, he’s married now, and I’m getting married, all water under the bridge.”

Why, _why_ did I have to tell her about that night at the club and my feelings toward him? It was years ago. Surely she realized I was over it. Because I was. _I was_.

“The DASHING bride,” he appeared beside me, twirling me around. “Stunning! I love the cocks. They bring out your eyes.”

I stared at him, parted my mouth, licked my lips and slowly took a long sip from my purple penis straw. He eyed me, challenged.

“How was Duncan’s, was anyone shaved and naked yet?”

“No, no, no Miss Mars,” He tapped my nose, “What happens at Duncan’s Bachelor night stays at Duncan’s bachelor night. There most certainly is _not_ a slightly weathered stripper performing questionable tricks in the penthouse involving shaving cream and lighters too close to smoke detectors.”

“Really?” I questioned.

Logan laughs, “Relax, it’s Duncan, they’re sitting in a hotel watching movies and slowly getting drunk. Booooorring.” He nudged my side, “I couldn’t wait to get out of there,” he added.

“Okay, the pillow flights can start now….” He looked around, expectant. The group of girls just collectively rolled their eyes.

“Nope,” Mac passed him a drink with a blue cock straw, “We’re going out soon. First, we are going to play one more game, and we need _you_ ,” she dragged Logan over into the lounge, pressing him up against the wall.

“Are you all going to devour me one by one?” he rubbed his hands together hopefully.

“Nope,” Mac pulled his head down and strapped a cardboard mask to his face. He straightened, and we all burst out laughing when we realized it was Duncan’s face. Complete with eyes cut out. Rather creepy.

“We’re playing pin the dick on Duncan!” Mac announced.

Logan backed up further.

“Relax it’s not a pin, its just double-sided tape.”

“I find this cruel and demeaning,” came Logan’s muffled voice from behind the mask. But he didn’t move. Didn’t attempt to take it off. He leaned down and pushed the dickstraw through Duncan’s mouth hole and took a drink, settling back.

The girls each took a differently colored penis, all different shapes and sizes and had their turn. They attacked him, blindfolded and spinning, until Logan was adorned with dicks as high as his armpits and as low as his knees. I couldn’t stop laughing.

Then, it was my turn. “Okay, finally the bride,” Mac motioned over to me, wrapped a scarf over my eyes and handed me my gold glitter penis, largest of them all.

“Go easy, Mars,” Logan quipped.

She spun me around, which, considering the amount of alcohol in my veins, was entirely unnecessary. When Mac straightened me, I struggled to stand still. Arms reached out, I searched for my target. The laughs from everyone grew as I touched the television and missed “Duncan” completely. Mac adjusted me again in the right direction and sent me on my way. I felt out in front of me, a chest, running my hands across his broad chest and shoulders, trying to get some perspective of distance. I could hear him make a sharp intake of breath, I unconsciously made one too.

“Hey,” Mac yelled, “No touching! Put out your hand and stick it on.”

I put my hand out where I thought the appendage belonged and gently pressed—another breath.

Pulling off my mask as everyone was laughing, clapping and cheering for me. I’d done pretty well. I’d attached it just to the right of his fly… very close. Very, very close.

I was the clear winner.

“And the Bride wins the prize,” Says Mac clapping. “A kiss from Duncan.”

I could see Logan’s cheeks raise under the mask, grinning. I glared at Mac.

“Come-on!” yelled Bianca, “kiss your fiancé.”

I turned, stood on the tips of my bare feet, placed my hands on those broad shoulders and kissed the cardboard face mask of Duncan. He leaned in.

Cheers erupted. I rolled my eyes for all to see.

Logan pulled off the mask a little sheepishly and looked down at his body covered by colored penises.

“Okay, everyone get changed. We’re going OUT!” Mac announced.

I balled my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

\-----

Mac escorted us into the dimly lit club named ‘Nights of Arabia’ and took us over to a table marked as reserved. Topless waiters presented me with a goblet full of some kind of punch and sat me down at the end of the table in a large golden throne. Classy. I’d thought the pink, flashing sash with BRIDE TO BE on it was the worst. I was wrong.

Logan was looking around mildly horrified as topless waiters passed him a drink. “I think we swapped the times around wrong, I should have done yours first and Duncan’s second.”

“Too bad, so sad,” said Mac and sat him in a chair.

“Not sure if you’ve noticed Logan, but you’re the only male in here. The club is full of women, in skimpy dresses. _Not one_ other guy,” said Bianca.

He looked around, suddenly fascinated.

“You’re right, okay I take it back,” shuffling back into his chair, making himself comfortable.

“You’re married,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah. You will be too in 48 hours … so remember, we can _look_ , but we can’t _touch_ ,” he gestured to the topless waiter beside me, fanning me with a faux palm frond.

The lights dimmed, and the stage illuminated, smoke machines filling it from the sides. Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’ started playing, and four uniformed men burst out onto the stage to maniacal screams from the audience. I grabbed the bottle of vodka in front of me and poured a shot, downing it quickly. Logan picked up his glass and gestured towards me. I filled his up too.

The men danced, they gyrated, they stripped down to g-strings, danced and gyrated some more. A firefighter came onto the stage and grabbed a microphone, “Okay ladies, I hear there are some very special guests here tonight,” my heart stopped.

Oh shit.

“Our first lucky lady Veronica Mars is about to be married, are you out there, Veronica?” He looks into the crowd.

Shit. _Shit._

I pondered if it was too late to hide under my chair?

Everyone at our table started cheering. Logan screamed the loudest, he grabbed my glass and poured another shot, pushing it towards me. I took it, tossed it back, and dragged myself out of my chair and onto the stage.

Mr. Firefighter took my hand and led me to a chair in the center of the stage. I tried to sit carefully. My skirt was _very_ short. I hadn’t anticipated this. I shut my eyes. Tight.

“Veronica Mars, tell me,” he walked around the chair, “Who is the lucky man?” pushing the Microphone into my face and lifting my hand to the crowd to display my ring.

“Um, Duncan Kane,” the crowd cheered again. I wished the stage would sink, to to be devoured by a black hole. Anything to get me out of this.

“Well, Veronica Mars, I’m going to make you forget _all_ about your fiancé,” he dropped the microphone, and the music started. He circled me, like prey. Running his hands down my arms, facing the crowd. I could smell his coconut body oil. Thrusting into my sides, gyrating against me with fancy dance moves. I wouldn’t look down at my table. I couldn’t. This would all be over soon.

He spun me out of the chair and gently laid me on the ground while simulating more sex positions than I’d ever experienced with Duncan over the years. I tried to cover my eyes. He pulled my hands back and ran them over his rippling muscles instead. I took a breath. 

Thankfully, the song came to an end, and he finished by picking me up, throwing me over his shoulder and spinning me around. I was certain I was going to vomit.

My underwear was showing, I was sure of it. A lacy black thong.

Face hot with embarrassment; I returned to the table. Mac is crying with laughter. “Oh my GOD, Veronica.” She holds up her phone, “I got it all on video so you can watch it later,” I start to wonder if she is drunker than I am. I put my face in my hands.

I could see in my peripheral vision Logan, back against the chair. Very still. Too scared to look at him, mortified. I didn’t need to hear his comments.

Picking up the vodka bottle I took a desperate gulp.

“Quite the performance,” he quipped. Unsmiling. His eyes dark.

“If you think I enjoyed ANY of that, you are kidding yourself,” I threw back with venom. How dare he berate me?

“Did you realize everyone could see your underwear?” he asked.

I stood and ran for the bathroom.

Several attempts to vomit were unsuccessful. I sat on the toilet lid, the room spinning.

“Mars,” Logan’s voice called through the open doorway.

“Fuck off!” I yelled back. “This is the ladies’ bathroom.”

“I’m not coming in. I’m just checking you’re okay.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I was being an ass.”

“Leave me alone!” I yelled, and the door closed.

I stayed for five minutes and tried to calm myself. I was embarrassed, drunk, and didn’t want to go back out there.

When I finally opened the bathroom door, Logan was there, waiting for me, leaning against the wall.

“Wanna get some fresh air?”

I nodded.

We walked down the street a little until we were out of earshot of the security guards.

Logan ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated and nervous. “I’m sorry, I know you were embarrassed. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I wasn’t mad at _you_. I was mad at the _situation._ “

I didn’t know what to say.

“I just didn’t like it,” he paused, “I didn’t like watching that. At all.”

What does that mean?

He searched for words, “You’re my oldest friend Veronica, and I hate to watch you demeaned, embarrassed. I wanted to stop it, but I realize it’s all supposed to be fun. I’m sorry, I overreacted.”

“You’re not my protector,” I said. His eyes bored directly into mine, and he stepped towards me.

“I am well aware of that Veronica, thank you for the reminder.”

“You’re married,” I said, pointing to my flashing BRIDE sash, playing with fire.

He took another step closer. My heart rate seemed to increase incrementally with each pace he took.

“So you keep reminding me.” Hand to his chin, “Or are you reminding yourself?”

I kept quiet.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked. I felt like the question was loaded. Very loaded.

I nodded, trying to steady myself against the wall.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he tested the waters, stalking closer.

Nodding again, I wasn’t quite as sure this time.

“I _maybe_ , once upon a time, used to have some no so friendly feelings towards you, so sometimes those memories can come back a little and cloud my judgment.”

I felt my throat constrict. Did he really just say that?

“By not so friendly, you mean?”

“I didn’t want so much to be friends as… more than friends.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t breathe, he was so fucking close. His admission threw me a little. While this _thing_ between us is hard to dismiss, to hear it verbally acknowledged is another thing entirely.

“Did you ever feel the same?” he asked.

He was testing me. My mind instantly went back to the night on the dancefloor, his body up against mine. The heat. I pressed my thighs together, the familiar warmth spreading in my core just with his look.

“Maybe,” vodka made me bold, and also stupid. You don’t talk to married people this way. You smile and you walk away.

_Walk away, Veronica._

His eyes smiled, then shifted from brown to black, in a split second.

I tried to move but my legs wouldn’t cooperate, like they didn’t understand the mechanics of walking away from Logan Echolls, in the dark, outside a strip club.

“You’re getting married in two days,” he held up two fingers.

“So you keep reminding me, or are you trying to remind yourself?” I turned his words against him and pointed to my ‘bride to be’ sash again.

He rolled his eyes dramatically and seemed to hesitate, like he was having the same tumultuous internal battles as me.

I was drunk, standing in the street with a man I really shouldn’t be alone with. He’s flirting. I’m flirting.

Bad. Idea. Veronica.

It’s that inexplicable connection. It zaps like electricity all around us. When Logan’s not around, I start to doubt it, chalk it up to my mind conjuring imagined feelings. Then I’m with him and there is _no_ questioning it. It’s there. It’s in his every move. _He felt it too._

Thankfully, Mac appears next to us grabbing my wrist and glaring at Logan who instantly steps back, “What the fuck guys? I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she seemed genuinely concerned.

“Sorry, I just needed some air,” Mac stared straight through me.

“No offense,” she put her hand up toward Logan and pointed, “but _you’re_ the last person she should be outside getting fresh air with.”

Logan doesn’t dispute it and falls back against the wall.

“There is a reason Bachelorettes are supposed to be women only,” she snatched my wrist and dragged me back inside. It was a good thing. I knew there was no way I was capable of walking away from Logan of my own volition.

\---------------------

We rode back to my apartment in a cab. Mac passed out on the seat, head on my shoulder. Logan had her shoes in his hands, playing absentmindedly with the buckle.

I was sobering up quickly.

After Mac dragged us back inside, I made an effort to keep a bit more distance between us. We all danced on the dancefloor with the strippers. We drank, we sang Whitney Huston’s “Wanna dance with somebody” at the top of our lungs. Despite the earlier hiccup, we relaxed. We had fun.

But the night drawing to a close meant that one more hurdle to the big day was over. It was coming towards me like a steam train with no brakes, and I couldn’t slow it down.

I was excited. Scared. Sure, everyone had second thoughts before they got married, didn’t they? Duncan was a great guy. He was the only guy I’d ever been with, the only person I’d ever had to gauge a relationship with. Every first we had was supposed to be our last. So what that he didn’t know how to fold clothes properly, would make strange noises while he chewed, wasn’t quite as tall and as _broad_ as certain gentlemen? We were going to be happy. It was going to be great.

Logan and I poured Mac into the spare bed, I left a glass of water and aspirin on her bedside and tucked her in.

I headed to the linen closet and took out some of the blankets and handed them to Logan in the lounge. He took off his shirt and lay on the couch, snuggling under a blanket.

“Night,” he called out as I reached the hallway.

I didn’t respond.

\------

I checked the clock again “4:00” turned and tried to get comfortable for the fiftieth time. I thought I heard a noise. It was probably just the couple in the apartment next door.

I turned and grabbed my phone, scrolling through for a distraction. Some of my friends had sent through pictures from the night. Lots of blurry shots of me, strippers, Mac, drinks, Logan wearing a Duncan mask covered in colorful cocks. I threw my phone down onto the bed.

Nope.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, I took my glass for a refill. As I passed the couch in the darkness, I could see the outline of his sleeping form.

Filling the glass to the brim from the fridge tap, I turned and stopped.

Logan stood in the doorway.

“Can’t sleep?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t sure he could even see me. I could barely see him in the darkness.

But I could feel him there, his presence, filling the room.

More silence.

Then, I heard him exhale, long and deep.

And like magic, he was suddenly in front of me. Close. In my space.

I didn’t retreat.

His head dipped down towards me, and Logan’s lips were on mine. So insistent and hungry. I pressed myself towards him, permitting him to deepen the kiss.

It was eager and messy. It was divine. I was sure I’d never in my life been kissed like _this;_ it was something entirely new to me. My legs started to give out from under me.

One arm circled my waist and the other in my hair as we devoured each other’s mouths.

He pushed me against the fridge. I could feel the magnets pressing into my spine. Magnets Duncan bought from the cities he’d visited. His hand is under my shirt, deliciously hot against my skin, tracing the underside of my breast.

A soft moan from my lips poured into his mouth and, in response, his fingers encircled my nipple.

Blackness.

Pressed against me, so much heat. The smell of him, the ocean and vodka.

I tried to crawl up him, needing to be closer. My legs wrapped around his waist, using the fridge as leverage. His hands grabbed my thighs firmly, pressing against me, all of _it_ long and hard, right there at my core.

The magnets behind me dislodged and fell to the floor loudly.

We suddenly paused, panting, pulling away, shocked by the noise. Opening my mouth, Logan’s fingers press against my lips, quieting me. Our foreheads rested together, assessing, waiting. In the brief pause, I’m searched for the composure I lost long ago.

My lips already missed his.

We both gasped for air in ragged breaths, listening for any sound of Mac.

Nothing.

He lifted, legs still wrapped around him into my room. He gently laid me on the bed, went back and closed the door silently.

In seconds he’s back, whispering into my ear, “not a sound,” he grinned into my neck and kissed me from my ear to my collarbone. It’s easy for him to say, my heaving breaths coulrn’t be controlled.

The truth was, I was afraid.

Afraid that Mac would hear.

Afraid that he’d come to his senses and back away, out of loyalty to Duncan.

Afraid that he would stop.

“Veronica,” he murmured against my ear, breaking the fever of his kisses

I couldn’t summon a coherent sentence, “mmmm.”

“I’m not sure I know how to stop this,” he said, pained.

“Good,” I pulled him back against me, hard. Forcing his lips back against mine, he didn’t fight back. My body ached for him, for _this_ Logan. Here, with me, right here, right _now._ And if I only got him for one night, I was going make the most of it.

My bra long gone, hanging off my dresser. His pants were gone, piled on the floor.

Once he slipped himself inside me, I fell apart, loosing myself, losing the Veronica Mars I thought I was. I tilted my hips to invite him further, in desperate and frantic thrusts. We clung to each other, grasping. I didn’t want it to end but, I couldn’t hold myself back, the pleasure so raw and intense. His brown eyes bored into mine, barely blinking above me.

I was sure he could feel my urgency; there is no need for build-up. I’m was already there, teetering on the edge of my orgasm.

Then he moaned, “Oh God, Veronica,” and I was done. Spent. Crashing down like years of pent up frustration and longing. His hands covered my open, gasping mouth to try and silence me.

\--------------

When I opened my eyes, he was there. The sun was beaming through the window; I hadn’t even closed my blinds.

Burying my face into the pillow, I couldn’t imagine how I must look after a night like that. His eyes were smiling at me. I could smell the sex lingering in the air. The touches had continued all night long, the exploration of each other in _depth_. My legs and body ached from it, a pleasurable ache.

“Morning,” he quipped.

“Morning.”

“You look just as beautiful in the morning as I imagined.”

I rolled my eyes and pretend to gag. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s a real treat.” I sat up, smoothing my hair back, wiping under my eyes and he pulled me back. Back to the bed. The bed where good things happened. And bad things. He’s over me and devouring me with his eyes.

“How is your head?” he queried. Testing to water to see how drunk I was.

“Fine, I had well and truly sobered up by bedtime.”

He smiled widely, “Good, me too.”

So, it was established that this was a reasonably sober consensual rendezvous. It couldn’t be blamed on drunk insanity.

Although I was sure I was insane. I was lying naked in bed, with my fiancé’s best friend, my best friend one day before my wedding and I was happy. Clearly, I’d gone mad.

His fingers traced circles on my hipbone, making it very hard to think.

“So……”

“Do we _really_ need to ruin this morning by talking?” he asked, hungrily.

“Unfortunately, I think we might need to. We have some time constraints here. Mac might already be awake. We can’t stay like this.”

Logan pulled his hand away, nodding sadly.

“So this is it?” sadness seeped into his tone.

I sighed.

“I don’t know. I have to think. _This_ is a lot to process.” Rolling out of bed, I started putting on underwear and trying to locate a shirt. He laid back, sheet low on his hips, hands behind his head. I wondered if this move was an attempt to lure me back.

“Are you trying to tell me, Veronica, that you never imagined this possibility? That somehow this never crossed your mind? That this is a new concept to process?”

“Maybe,” I pulled a shirt over my head, “But I never expected that it would _actually_ happen. Especially not the day before my fucking wedding,” just saying it made me feel a little sick. I had an affair, and I wasn’t even married yet.

“So you’re still getting married then?” he cocked his head to the side.

“You’re kidding, right? Of course, I’m still getting married. YOU’RE MARRIED!” I yell. The situation bordering on ridiculous.

His hands quickly gesturing to keep it down. I momentarily forgot Mac was in the spare room down the hall.

I started searching around the room, finding his clothes and throwing them towards him. He reluctantly starts getting dressed, eyes suddenly shadowed. Silently he buttoned his pants and then moved to stand in front of me, challenging.

“What are we going to do here Veronica?” He sighs. His eyes are sad, sincere. Desperate for an answer.

My head scrambled for answers, for a sign. Of course, this is what I’ve wanted for years. But how do you throw everything away, throw Duncan away, _everything_ in my life away? For what? One night? Entirely on a whim for a married man?

It was madness.

“Veronica,” Mac knocked at the door.

We froze, eyes locked on each other.

“One minute!” I called out.

“Wait here,” I mouthed to him. He just shook his head.

“ _Please,_ “ I begged.

I left the room, heading to the kitchen to meet Mac and debrief on the evening. Of course, I don’t mention what happened between Logan and I, not yet anyway. It was all too fresh. After pouring a coffee, I told Mac I needed to get my phone from the room and when I arrived; it was empty.

Logan Echolls was gone.

And he doesn’t return. Not for the rehearsal dinner. Not for the wedding. My texts go unread, my calls unanswered.

So, I married Duncan. On the 23rd of July as planned, minus one best friend who was unexpectedly called back for duty.


	6. Chapter 6

Logan’s apartment is ready, he takes his duffel bag and leaves, with promises of a dinner at his place next week.

I’m relieved.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the company, but I needed some air. To be deprived of something for so long and then have it returned is confronting. My mind had to play some catch up with reality. And I needed a break from those eyes, that face—his attention, his interest, waiting, sipping his beer, caramel depths watching me.

When something happens, and you never discuss it, you never acknowledge it. Did it even happen? For some time, I’d convinced myself that the affair was a dream.

Too much alcohol, too many emotions and an over-active imagination.

Surely it was a possibility?

Or maybe it was a way of dealing with my guilt. A way of living my life with Duncan, marrying him, pretending that I was only his. Shaking it all off as an aberration.

But he was back.

It was real.

I had an affair with my best friend, and so did he. And it would appear that he came clean and told Parker about it. So why was it I’d never told Duncan?

________________________________________

I am awake early. Duncan left before the sun rose and left me in bed, tossing and turning and eventually giving up. I decide to tackle the mountain of washing that accumulated while our guest was here. I’m folding, matching socks. Riveting.

My phone buzzes.

 **7.03 from Logan Echolls** Moving sucks, remind me never to do it again.

I feel my lips curl into a smile as I read his message.

 **7.05 from Veronica Kane** True Story. But don’t you have minions you can pay do this?

 **7.06 from Logan Echolls** Apparently, when your trust fund is seized, you have to actually work and do things for yourself. It’s incredibly disappointing. Take me back, please!

 **7.07 from Veronica Kane** Oh, Boo Hoo! Lift your boxes and get to work.

 **7.07 from Logan Echolls** Your arms look big and strong… care to assist?

 **7.08 from Veronica Kane** Leave me alone. I’m doing important government duties. Who else could possibly match the mayor of Neptunes socks?

 **7.09 from Logan Echolls** It sounds like critical work. Who knew you could serve your community so well? It’s the ones in the background who carry the nation on their shoulders.

7 **.10 from Veronica Kane** Stop buttering me up.

 **7.10 from Logan Echolls** Pretty please? Help me, Veronica, _help me!_

 **7.11 from Logan Echolls** ☹ Can you really say no to my sad face?

 **7.11 from Veronica Kane** Quit being a big man-baby. You have been out of my house for 18 hours. You CAN do things for yourself, you know? You managed it for years…

 **7.12 from Logan Echolls** I will pay. Pizza, beer.

 **7.13 from Veronica Kane** Are we still in college?

 **7.13 from Logan Echolls** I’m a single man, all I have is beer in my fridge and a pizza delivery number. Forgive me.

 **7.14 from Veronica Kane** Fine, whatever. I’ll come over after breakfast.

 **7.15 from Logan Echolls** Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!

 **7.16 from Veronica Kane** Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget my payment.

 **7.17 from Logan Echolls** As IF you would let me forget. See you soon. Xo

I leave the pile of washing and grab my keys. After only eighteen hours apart, I’m driving to his apartment before I even realize what I’m doing.

Logan sits on the floor, pulling clothes out of boxes and sniffing them before placing them on the ground.

“Why are you sniffing them?” I ask, horrified.

“I’ve had some of this stuff in storage for years. It bears the distinct aroma of _eau de Thrift Shop_ ,” he throws an orange shirt to the side in disgust.

“A good rule. If you haven’t worn the clothes in a few years, you don’t need them. You need a dump pile.” I grab a nearby trash bag, shake it open, and toss the shirt inside.

“Hey, this is expensive stuff!”

“Fine,” I shrug, “It can be a thrift shop pile, it already has the odor,” he throws a green button-down at me. I unconsciously put it to my face and inhale. Bad idea. I can’t smell thrift shop. The only scent I catch is unmistakably Logan. I scrunch my nose up and put it into the bag. Great cover, Veronica.

Logan looks around, clearly overwhelmed at the boxes that surround him. “Would it be exceedingly capitalist of me to get rid of it all and just go buy everything new?”

“Like a cleansing thing? Or like a lazy thing?”

“Like a cleansing thing. New life, new stuff?” He shrugs and keeps going through the boxes.

“It’s a big change. Maybe you should get some new things, make it your own?”

“I’ve been told what to do the exact minute I need to do it for so many years that I think maybe I’m a little overwhelmed with the choice I now have. I’ve forgotten a little how to think for myself.” He scratches his head thoughtfully, “I went from my parent’s house, to our share house, to a house with Parker, to a furnished apartment. Mix that with years of living on ships, haring sleeping quarters with 50 other guys and no personal space. I’m 34, and this is the first time I’ve ever had my own _space.”_

I nod, I know the feeling but keep my mouth shut.

We spend the morning sorting, stacking and finding homes for everything he kept. I help Logan make the spare bed, wipe down the kitchen cabinetry and put away toiletries. It all feels effortless, like suddenly the years he was gone don’t mean anything. He’s my friend again. It’s a nice feeling. I lean into it.

“Okay, where is my pizza?” I stand, hands-on-hips. “One o’clock came and went. I’m overdue my payment.”

“Oh, god! I dared to forget to feed the beast. Quick” he motions, fearfully “pass me the phone!”

I throw him the phone and he orders, walks to the fridge and takes out some cold beers. I note that is the only thing in his sad little fridge. He hands me one, and I walk over to a box labeled “stuff” and start opening it up. He collapses onto the couch and kicks his leg up onto the armrest.

I thumb through a box filled with photographs. Photos of Duncan, Aaron, Lily, Parker, Me. They’re mostly old printouts. I find one of all of us at Junior Prom and hold it up to Logan.

“Blast from the past,” I look at it closely, “I loved that dress and, _of course_ , Lily hated it.”

He grins, “you looked amazing, and you _know_ it,”

We’re standing in the Kane Mansion. Celeste took the picture. Duncan has his arms wrapped around my waist, a thin pink spaghetti strap is falling to the side, I’m looking away from the camera. 

“You looked beautiful in that dress,” he says, then adds, “Who’s that stud in the background?”

In the photo, Logan stands to my left, arm casually draped around Lilly.

“Look at your spiky hair, gel much? And your suit was too big.”

“I was the pinnacle of fashion. Calvin Kline, eat your heart out.”

“You look like the missing member of N’SYNC,” I say.

“Who made you Tim Gunn?”

I laugh.

Logan takes a slow sip of his beer and says, “Lilly chose that suit.”

I touched her face with the tip of my finger. I had become very good at compartmentalizing Lily, burying her deep in my mind. She didn’t come out often. Duncan no longer talked about her, so we just didn’t go _there_. And we didn’t have any photos of her in the apartment, so it was nice to see her smiling face again.

“Lily would curse us now for all being _boring_ , middle-class losers… and Duncan, the MAYOR!” he muses.

I laugh, “She would surely be famous, having multiple affairs with gorgeous movie stars, dripping with gifted diamonds.” I liked to imagine her. Happy and drifting through life like she did as a teen. Surely it was just a fantasy, but it made me feel connected to her somehow.

Logan went back to sipping his beer quietly, in thought. I wondered, even after all these years, if he still loved her?

“Do you think if the accident never happened, if you guys would still be together?”

A laugh comes from deep within him, a little bitter. “No. We weren’t meant for each other. Lily knew that. I didn’t. But I know it now. We were together for a good time, not a long time.”

I flick through more photos. Photos of Logan as a baby. Pictures of Logan at college. Photos of Duncan and Logan. Surfing. Drinking. Best friends on the beach. Photos of Parker and Logan. College years. Parties. Fun. I pick up a photo of Logan’s 21st Birthday. We’re all in the kitchen of our share house—pre-drinks before going to the nightclub. We’re rosy-cheeked and smiling. Logan is wearing a party hat and a 21 Badge on his shirt. He’s beaming, brown eyes boring into me from the picture, just like that night. I push it back into the pile.

\------

Sauntering into the bedroom wearing only a black bra and my tiniest pair of underwear, I find Duncan sitting up in bed, reading. Again.

Spending the day with Logan has had me on edge for the first time in _months,_ and I’m looking for a release. For so long, I’ve felt a disconnect with my body, with myself. Suddenly I feel _alive,_ and I want to share the feeling.

“Hey babe,” I purr.

He looks up at me over his glasses with caution.

“Are you okay?” He seems genuinely concerned.

I prowl over to the bed, shimmy up to his side, tracing tiny kisses down the side of his neck and licking below his earlobe. He shuffles, turning me to look at him.

“Are you sure?”

I respond by kissing him feverishly on the lips, dragging my tongue across his teeth. I crawl into his lap, pressing myself against him with abandon.

Yes.

This _is_ what I want, isn’t it?

He runs his hands up my sides, lifts me and places me onto the bed, swiftly moving away from my advances. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly covered in chills.

“What the hell Duncan?” I bark.

“V. Sorry. I just can’t, not tonight. I’m sorry. It just feels…” He runs his hands through his hair, searching for words.

Blood courses through my veins so fast I can hear it in my ears. “We haven’t had sex in _months,_ Duncan. What is this? Is it a marriage? Are we just friends now? Do I repulse you?”

His hands rise and fall, trying to quiet my voice as it grows louder and louder. I silence myself and collapse onto the bed, and he wraps himself around me. It’s not as comforting as I’d hoped. It’s almost cold somehow.

“You _know_ it’s not you V. You are beautiful, sexy, gorgeous! It’s the stress of work, the election coming up, the IVF, the failed tests.”

I nod. Because I know, I’ve felt all of it too. It’s like an envelope of sadness. Sadness that nothing can fix, certainly not sex. 

He runs his fingers through my hair, like a mother would to a child.

At some point, I finally fall asleep in my husband’s arms.

\---------

“Daddy-o?” I use my key to open the door and call out, looking around.

“Not home?” Logan queries and I walk into the kitchen.

“Oi, old man?” I yell out. Logan shakes his head and laughs.

We have fallen into a routine since Logan has moved back. Now that he is settled into his place and working in his new offices, he finishes early on Wednesdays. Invites me for lunch somewhere. I relent because, let’s be honest, sitting and working from home most of the time can be tedious, and I’m easily distracted. He buys me lunch, and we sometimes walk along the beach, sometimes explore old hangouts. Today, I’m trying to find Dad, who was helping me with some files for the firm.

“Back here,” I can hear him call from outside.

We move through the house to the yard. He’s getting up from a garden bed and brushing himself to get the dirt off.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming by today,” he sees Logan, “Geez! Look who you dragged in! Logan Echolls,” he grabs his hand for a dirty handshake, smiling. “Veronica told me you were back in town.” Dad looks him up and down, taking in his increased frame size since childhood, “Jesus, least you could do is work out, take care of yourself a little…”

Logan smiles. “Keith, good to see you,”

“Glad you could bring my daughter down to see me. She only ever seems to appear when she wants help with a case!” he baits me and nudges against my arm playfully.

“Well, sometimes I need Neptune’s _second-best_ investigator to double-check some things for me.”

Dad moves out of the garden and motions for us to follow him to the house. He’s aged. Retired from the force for some years now, he still lives alone, albeit in a nicer, newer house in the suburbs. He’s officially single, but I know he is not-so-secretly seeing a widow a few houses down. I caught them once on an early morning drop-in still robed and enjoying a pancake breakfast. There is one thing I know Dad likes to make for his lady friends after a big night. Pancakes.

He motions to us to sit at the table, and we obey. “How is Duncan’s race going? Early polling is looking good, I think he’s a shoo-in.”

“Good, he’s doing a lot of local rallies and door-knocking right now. He’s pretty confident. First re-election is generally an easy one.”

Keith pours us some drinks and places packaged cookies onto a plate, sitting down with us.

“Well, it’s going to be a good race. I’m looking forward to election night. It’s a good thing you’re back in Neptune Logan, another vote for Duncan!”

I look at Logan and smile, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, Logan, you _better_ vote for him,” I put my finger into his face.

He puts his hands up, “As _if_ I would consider another candidate,” and picks up his first cookie. I’ve already eaten three.

As we chat, I remember how much of our teenage lives were spent hanging with my Dad. We’d file into the Balboa County Sherriff department like we owned the place, often doing homework in the interrogation room. Dad would feed us all with takeout, listen to our chatter, and be the voice of reason on issues when needed. He was a shoulder when Lily was having problems with Celeste, a mentor to Duncan and a father figure to Logan when his own was mostly absent. When Logan was spiraling, I can’t think of the number of times Dad let Logan off, bailed him out of jail or drove him home when he’d had too much to drink. Dad was the one who found Logan after his accident. On patrol late at night he’d come across his car, wrapped around the tree, convinced that no-one could have survived. When he recognized the X-terra, he told me he’d never ran so fast in his life. He didn’t wait for the paramedics and pulled Logan out himself.

“I hear you’re running a new venture in security?” he asks.

Logan nods, “Yes sir.”

“I’ve got a few contacts from the past which might make some good future clients. I’ll let you know they’re details if you’re interested.”

“That would be amazing, for sure, Sir.”

“Oh, stop with the Sir.” He shakes his hands at Logan.

Logan grins, “Sorry, too many years of yes Sir, no Sir. It’s ingrained.”

Dad sits back in his chair, “So what’s this?” he points his fingers back and forth between us, “are you two teaming up for a special security investigation super force?”

I cough, “Um, I think _not_. He’s just tagging along today because he was bored.”

“Incorrect. It’s your sunny disposition that keeps me coming back for more.”

I beam a sun-laced smile.

Dad rolls his eyes.

“I figured you’d have some making up to do, considering the wedding and all,” he drops casually.

I pray to the gods to shut dad up.

“I do, Sir. I wish I could have been here,” he looks genuinely regretful.

“Veronica was so upset.” He picks up a cookie and looks at me, “She’s not an emotional sort, as you well know, but it was a rough day. We all missed you.”

“Daaad,” I put up my hand to stop him, and turn to Logan, “It was fine, really,” trying to shake it off, he looks devastated. I put my face in my hands.

“Okay,” I stand up suddenly, changing the subject “How did you go with the file?”

Keith shuffles into his office and comes out with some binders, “It’s all in there. Pete, and old friend from the Tax Office, helped with some of the older records. It demonstrates discrepancies dating back at least seven years,” he hands it to me.

We say goodbye and promise to see each other at the election in two weeks. Dad stands and walks us out onto the porch, waving as we get into the car.

I buckle my seat and start the engine. I can feel Logan looking into me.

“You’re so lucky. You know your Dad is amazing?”

“Yeah,” I nod, but can’t turn towards him.

“You know why I _couldn’t_ be at your wedding, right?”

He reaches out as though he’s going to touch me, but seems to re-think it and instead runs his hands back and forth on his thighs.

I stare at the steering wheel, looking at all its interesting crevices.

“I know,” I mutter, putting the car into gear.

We sit in silence for a while before his hand encircles my arm and turns me towards him. 

“No, Veronica, I’m sorry,” his brown eyes are so sad. “ _For all of it._ For not being there when you needed your friend there. But I just couldn’t be, not after what happened. I couldn’t look at Duncan, Parker, _myself_ in the mirror. I couldn’t look at _you_ … marrying _him.”_ He sighs and presses his head against the headrest. “I lied about work, and I ran away from everything, because it was the easiest thing to do.”

I turn, and I can see Dad, still standing on the porch, watching us, concern in his brow. Logan looks up and sees her too and with this, he retracts from his gentle hold on my arm. I put up my hand in a casual wave and pull out onto the street.

The truth was, Logan leaving made everything easier. It was easier to move on. To try and forget.

Easier for me to lie.

To Duncan.

To myself.

So I wasn’t mad at him. I was sad.

Sad that we lost five years of friendship for one stupid night. I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit to myself that I was also sad that he left that morning. That it was a one night mistake to him. Something he wasn’t willing to work through or fight for.

He just left.

_\--------------------_

I’m awoken at some ungodly hour on a weekend to a commotion.

Grunts and sighs are coming from the walk-in as Duncan searches through the bedroom cupboards, throwing things into the floor.

“Calm down!” I bend over and pick up the dropped items. “It must be here somewhere. I haven’t moved it.”

Duncan is searching for his wetsuit. Its Sunday and he has cleared his schedule to go surfing with Logan. It has been _years_ since he’s been surfing. I can’t remember the last time he hit the waves. He spends so much time before a desk now that I’m mildly concerned that his body can’t cope with physical activity anymore.

He has pulled his surfboard out from the storage space in the garage downstairs and spent last night excitedly waxing it back to its former glory. I’m glad they’re going out together, some manly bonding. God knows Duncan needs it.

We’ve moved past my little bedroom episode the other night by doing what all couples do with a gaping problem in a relationship—ignore it.

I stagger into the lounge and collapse on the sofa. The house is still so hot, it’s stifling. At least there is a fan in our bedroom to get through the night.

There is a knock at the door. I open it to Logan, in sunglasses, blue board shorts and a white t-shirt leaning against the door jam.

Against my better judgment, I let my eyes glide over Logan’s form. He seems to do the same to me.

“Duuuuncann!” I yell, “Your boyfriend’s here!”

Logan shoots me a quizzical look.

“He’s been up excited about your date all night, and now he can’t find his wetsuit, and he’s having a little breakdown,” I explain.

“Are you not joining us today?” he asks.

I shake my head, “You know that water and I don’t mix.”

“Ah yes, I forgot you were half-human, half Mogwai,” he says.

“I will be spending my weekend catching up on work you have recently distracted me from doing.”

Duncan comes out of the bedroom, wetsuit in hand and a smile on his face.

“Found it,” he beams, holding it up. 

“Goodie!” says Logan.

He heads into the kitchen and grabs the picnic basket he packed with lunch and beers, just like old times.

“Please take care of him, Logan. Don’t go too far out.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kane, and I’ll have him home by 6 pm, scouts honor,” he gives me the three-finger salute.

Duncan stops and gives a quick peck on my cheek before he starts out the door.

“Wish me luck,” he descends the stairs towards the parking garage, wetsuit slung over his shoulder.

“You coming Wednesday night? Duncan would love you to be there.”

Logan nods. The election for Mayor is on this week. Duncan is hoping for a swift re-election and a celebration party to follow. Win or lose. He will need his friends there for support.

“I’ll be there. I even got a new suit for the occasion.”

“Fancy,” I smile. Logan finally straightens and moves to leave.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Logan quips as he closes the door.

I look down and realize I’m wearing only an oversize t-shirt and underwear.


	7. Chapter 7

Rushing in the door, I throw my keys onto the table and start pulling off hells in a frenzied dance.

“Veronica?” Duncan calls out, then walks into the room “We’re supposed to be there already!”

My fingers hover behind my back, searching out the tiny snag of the zipper, “I know, I know, the traffic was hellish. I’m getting dressed right now, 3 minutes maximum!”

Duncan sighs, pacing back and forth, scrolling through his phone.

“I’ll fix my makeup in the car,” I say, mid-sprint into the bedroom. In seconds my clothes lay in a rumpled tangle on the floor and I throw on my dress, which thankfully I’d laid out earlier. Running a brush through my hair, I spray on some deodorant and appear back in the lounge, holding my shoes in my hand. Cinderella on the way to the ball, albeit slightly more disheveled and lacking a fairy godmother.

My dress is long, black silk and completely backless. It won’t allow for a bra or underwear, so I check myself in the mirror to make sure everything is where it should be. I run my hands over the cool material and hurriedly smooth down my sides. Duncan glances at the dress silently and then back to his phone.

As I reach for my clutch, he looks up at me, exasperated.

“I _knew_ you’d be late,” he shakes his head. My inherent tardiness for most appointments grated at him in the best of times. I felt a pang of regret for stopping for that drive-through coffee.

Keys jingling in his hand, he turns and walks out the door.

“Duncan, I’m sorry,” I grab his hand and spin him toward me. “We will be there on time, we still have fifteen minutes. The guest of honor never shows up on time to these things. You need to make an entrance!” I attempt to make a good situation out of a bad one.

He doesn’t buy it for a second.

“But,” he starts.

“Duncan Kane, RELAX! The votes have all been cast, there is _nothing_ more you or anyone can do. At least another hour of counting before there will be a result.” I exude positivity, eyes wide, holding his gaze, trying to calm him. He’s nervous. Everything he’s worked for these last two years has led up to this moment. He wants it to be perfect. For Duncan, it was perfection or nothing.

He sighs, letting the tension in his shoulders ease. I peer at him with my famed doe eyes and they render him weak. A smile tinges his jaw, he leans over and kisses me, “Okay, yes. Let’s go.”

We drive fast.

And, of course, Duncan wins. It’s a landslide, and he is beaming from ear to ear. I am by his side, smiling for photos with numerous strangers shaking hands with ‘congratulations’ as the night wears on. Everyone is there, wearing ‘Duncan Kane for Re-election’ badges, including me. The air is buzzing with excitement. I’m buzzing from an open-bar and liberal refills of champagne.

Wallace appears with Bianca and hugs Duncan, patting him on the back. “Amazing job!” he says, “two more years!”

Duncan glows, “Thanks man, I couldn’t have done it without all your support,”

“How is the fun table?” I ask Wallace, motioning over to the table I _wish_ I was sitting at. Mac is there with David, Dad, Logan and some other casual friends and acquaintances. Being the wife of the mayor equals boring table with benefactors. Everyone at the fun table is laughing at something Dad is saying.

Wallace nudges me and whispers, “Poor Ronnie has to sit at the boring table with the Mayor?”

I pout my bottom lip out.

“Bianca and I will need to go soon, anyway. Our babysitter turns into a pumpkin at 10.”

“Really? Boo! I was hoping we could blow this joint and all have a drink afterward together?”

Duncan overhears my comment, looks at me and frowns.

“Veronica, we will need to stay and help pack up. We’re here until closing. You _know_ how it looks if we leave early.”

I turn to Wallace with puppy dog eyes and a sigh, “The mayor says I can’t come out and play.”

Duncan puts his hand around my waist, “Oh come-on you big baby, we’ve got to go and speak to the Whitman’s, see you, Wallace,” I give Wallace a brief wave and follow Duncan to the next table.

————-

It’s getting late, and the room is starting to empty. We’ve been over with the Whitmans, then the Rothschilds, the Jefferies and the Browns. All dynasties with big money who publicly showed their support to Duncan during either his term or re-election. He needs to show his appreciation, in person, to _each and every one_.

I was fading; the champagne starting to wear off. My shoulders were starting to slump a little. Diane Brown had just been explaining to me how her live-in Nanny had been caught trying on clothes in her closest… the horror!

I reach for my glass for another drink, empty. The waiters have become more sparse on refills as the night wore on.

My phone vibrates in my bag. I pull it out.

 **11.27 pm from Logan Echolls** How’s the riveting conversation?

Spinning in my chair, I seek him out. He’s not at the fun table. I can’t see him anywhere.

 **11.28 pm from Veronica Kane** Dying! Send wine.

Diane moves on to tell me all about her purebred spoodle, Sprinkles and his medication regime.

A body leans over my shoulder, champagne bottle in hand, and fills my flute. Bubbles cascade, floating from the bottom to the top, tiny yellow buttons and I watch them intently. So focused I barely register the presence, glad for the top-up when I recognize the scent.

I know who it is.

Instantly, my cheeks flush and my arm grows warm with him beside it. His waist grazes my shoulder as he leans in, holding the bottle with precision. I forget to breathe for the entirety of the exchange.

Diane motions to him to fill her glass too.

Logan moves towards her, performing the same elaborate, waiter-like move and fills hers. As he pours, his eyes raise to meet mine. It’s the first look I’ve received this evening from those brown eyes. 

It’s a good one.

He’s wearing a dark grey suit, crisp white shirt and light grey tie loosened. The suit is so well cut it looks like his body has been poured into it. I take the flute between my fingers, the cool of it startling my suddenly hot fingertips. Pressing it to my lips, I hesitate, reminding myself to keep breathing, in and out.

In and out.

His eyes dip to my dress for a second longer than appropriate. The corner of his mouth curls, he winks and departs as quickly as he came.

My phone vibrates again.

 **11.32 pm from Logan Echolls** That dress Veronica, are you trying to _kill_ me?

A smile spreads across my cheeks, and I put my phone back into my clutch.

Yes, maybe I am.

——————————-

Duncan takes me over to meet Harold Lee, a tall, well-aged man in his late 60s. He has thick salt and pepper hair combed back from his face, and he grasps my hand with a firm handshake and a polite nod. I stare back at him with a friendly smile, trying to place him. 

“Many congratulations Duncan, I look forward to continuing to work with you.”

“Thanks, Harold, I couldn’t have done it without your support.” Duncan turns to me, “Harold is responsible for most of the residential building works along the North side of Neptune. It’s a big expansion for the town, an extra 17,000 residents.”

I mouth a ‘wow’ in reply.

The bathroom door opens and a tall blonde exits, strolling on stiletto heels. She moves towards us and stands beside Harold. I see it in my peripheral vision before I turn my head. I know who it is, but I’m suddenly rendered incapacitated and too shaken to make eye contact.

Parker Lee.

“Hey guys,” Parker says with a small wave.

I eye the exits, feeling a cold flow of dread settle in my stomach.

“I believe you know my daughter, Parker. She is the one who recommended I speak with you directly about the sub-development Duncan.”

“Parker,” Duncan leans in and hugs her, “So glad you’re here. Thank you for coming,” She smiles and smooths down her dress, it’s green and strapless, she looks incredible.

She motions to me with an awkward ‘hi’ and a brief smile. We don’t hug, not like old times. There were days when she’d barrel across the room, screaming ‘Ronnie!’ and encase me in her arms. Not anymore.

“Yeah, I’ve been over chatting to the ‘old gang,” she motions to the fun table. The dread tracks from my stomach to my chest, constricting my heart, “So good to catch up.”

I grimace, everyone gets to play with my friends but me.

"We were so happy to see Logan again, and now you, it’s so great,” says Duncan.

Parker smiles, “I’m so glad Logan is back here with friends and some support,” she says, voice level, almost practiced.

“I bet you’re happy to have him back,” she adds, and her eyes flick from Duncan and land directly on mine.

Fuck.

“Yeah, it’s great,” confirms Duncan.

My mind starts to race. I wonder if Logan disclosed not only what happened but _who_ it happened with?

“Parker is big in PR, and she’s been helping us with a lot of the advertising. As you know, we had some issues getting the development across the line, and she helped work locally to boost our profile and get some of those early land sales across the line,” Harold explains, clearly proud of his daughter.

“That’s great. You’re certainly in the right hands with Parker.” Duncan adds.

I’m trying to remember how to breathe, how to remain casual. Open mouth, let lungs fill with air. Exhale. Repeat. It’s immeasurably harder than normal with Parker’s eyes on me.

“Are we still on for next Friday?” Duncan asks Harold.

“For sure, I look forward to seeing you.”

“It was great seeing you again, Parker. We must all catch up together when we have more time,” says Duncan, a genuine smile on his lips.

“For sure,” she replies, and they leave.

I’ve never been more sure of anything that we will certainly _not_ be catching up again.


	8. Chapter 8

Duncan has made me coffee and left it on the kitchen counter. He sits at the dining table, eating a bagel and reading the morning news. I can see his face plastered across the front page.

“Good morning, Mayor,” I sing-song with as much pep as I can muster and take the mug in my hands.

“They’re saying it was a 12% margin.”

“That’s excellent!”

He huffs and shakes his head, “early estimates were 15, I’m going to have my work cut out next term, we’re _really_ going to have to nail this development.”

“God Duncan, that’s two years away, can’t you just be happy for the win and do what you can for those two years?”

He picks up his plate, deposits it in the sink, and knots his tie.

“Dad thinks this should be my last term.”

“What? Why?”

“He wants me to run for congress.”

I almost spit out my coffee, “Congress!!?”

He nods and slips his jacket over his shoulders.

“Wow, is that something _you_ want, or _Jake Kane_ wants?”

“I don’t know Veronica, but maybe I’ve got to start thinking about something past _this,_ past Neptune. I think I can do bigger, better things. I know things were different when we were trying for kids but, maybe, if we don’t have _that_ we can focus on _this._ Like a team effort?”

I stare back, mouth agape. Is he using my inability to conceive a child as an excuse to climb the political ladder because we don’t have pesky kids in the way holding us back?

He can see his mistake and comes towards me, wrapping his arms around me. “Ignore me. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, yes, you are.”

Picking up his keys, he smiles at me, “What are you doing today? San Diego?”

I nod.

“Well, have fun. I’ll try to be home at a reasonable hour,” he kisses me on the cheek and heads out the door.

I go to the bedroom to get dressed. My meetings in San Diego are set in glass-walled, architecturally inspired high-end law offices, so I dress the part. I find a black mid-length dress with small cap sleeves, a thin gold belt, and pair it with some black pumps.

My phone vibrates.

 **6.47 am from Logan Echolls** Are you still heading to SD today?

 **6.48 am from Veronica Kane** Yep

 **6.48 am from Logan Echolls** Wanna Lift?

 **6.49am from Veronica Kane**??

 **6.49am from Logan Echolls** I’ve got some meetings there today.

 **6.50am from Veronica Kane** Sure, I don’t know how long my day will be though. I don’t want you waiting around for me.

 **6.50 am from Logan Echolls I** ’m sure I will survive. I could go to the zoo, always wanted to go to SD zoo.

 **6.50am from Veronica Kane** Unsurprising. Be with your people.

 **6.51 am from Logan Echolls** Be there in 20?

 **6.51 am from Veronica Kane** Ok.

I put on mascara and wash the breakfast dishes. Suddenly moving quicker than before. A horn sounds from downstairs.

Logan is waiting in a black SUV with heavily tinted windows. He rolls down the window and dips his sunglasses at me. I roll my eyes, hopping inside.

“I feel like the secret service should be running beside us in this thing! Are these the new wheels?”

He nods, hands me an iced-coffee and points to a large pink box on the center console. The car is lovely and cool, the leather seats strip the heat from my back. Fresh-faced and smiling, he pulls out into the traffic.

“Wow, how’s this for service! I finally feel like a real ‘09er!” I gush in a preppy voice.

“And _that_ is why you are not an ‘09er and never have been Ms. Mars. As _if_ a ‘09er would ever be seen in a Ford! My days in that life are _clearly_ over now!”

He points to the iced coffee, “I know you’re strictly an Americano coffee girl, but it’s 85 already. I figured flinging some ice in it might aid in its appeal?”

“Infinitely.”

“And they asked about whipped cream and I thought, what the hell, let’s live a little.”

“You of all people should know, the answer to whipped cream, is always yes.”

“Basic Logic.”

I nod, “Excellent decision,” take a long sip and murmur, “creamy deliciousness.” 

He stares pointedly ahead.

Logan is dressed much more casually than last night. Wearing a t-shirt with a blazer over the top. I ponder when Logan graduated from oversized orange pants to _this._ Fresh-faced and smiling, he pulls out into the traffic.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you last night,” I apologize. “I was stuck schmoozing with the boring people.”

He chuckles, “yes, I could tell you were less than impressed.”

“Oh God, was I that obvious? I try to hide it but as it gets later in the night and, well, all the champagne, I start to crack.”

“It’s okay. I only noticed because I know you. I know your face. To the untrained eye, it would have looked normal. Nothing to see here.”

“Thanks for the refill, by the way.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

I take a sip of my coffee and peek into the box. Bear claws and original glazed, my favorites. 

I take a bear claw and hand him one. I’m stalling asking the question I want, instead focusing on the pastry, which proves an easy distraction. Butter, flour, sugar all dissolving on my tongue.

“So,” I pause, “After you left, guess who I spoke to?”

He peels his eyes off the road and looks at me.

“She talked to you?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. Okay,” He squints in the sunlight, thinking. “Um, was she okay?”

“She was fine. Polite.”

There are more questions I need to ask. Did you tell Parker it was me? How much does she know? But voicing these will require voicing the unspoken, finally speaking about what transpired, after five long years. I don’t think he’s ready. 

I’m certainly not.

“Did you know she was coming?”

I see his hands grip and re-grip more firmly on the steering wheel, eyes staying trained on the road.

“No. But she knew that we would all be there, so I think she might have been trying to surprise us. She sat with us for about an hour, we all reminisced about the college years. It was awkward, to say the least.”

I nod, thinking about my own awkward encounter.

“She still looks amazing.”

He nods and takes a bite.

“Did you know she was in Neptune, working with Duncan’s office?”

“Nope.”

“How do you feel about that?” A speckled trail of buttery crumbs falls as I bite and lands across my lap and his new car. Swiping at them, I only succeed in pushing them to the clean black floor, landing like snowflakes.

“Geez V, you act like I’ve got a say in what she does now. She does whatever the hell she likes. I can’t stop her coming to Neptune _or_ working with Duncan.” he’s uncomfortable. I look out the window watching the traffic, the buildings pass by.

I decide to leave it. Pushing this line of questioning could only lead me to places I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. 

He sighs and reaches his arm across to nudge me, “Sorry. It’s a bit of a sore point.”

I turn to him and smile, reaching over and commandeering the radio. 

We listen to Easy FM. I crack the window and can smell the familiar salt air.

“Why do I get always feel like I can breathe the second I leave Neptune?” I ask.

“Because Neptune is a festering hell-mouth?”

“I prefer pit of despair,” I say, sipping my drink, “It’s funny, it’s really the only home that I’ve ever really known, but I still struggle with it. Wondering if anywhere else is _really_ any better, grass is greener, you know?”

“I understand that feeling implicitly,” he pauses, “But I got out, albeit temporarily, and unfortunately I can confirm that anywhere you go, it’s all the same. Your problems just follow you.”

“So Neptune _isn’t_ the problem. Who woulda thought.”

“The problem is being an adult and all the shitty responsibilities that come with it. The older I get, the more I feel the pull to being young again. You know, no responsibilities, no bills. Back then he thought things were infinitely more difficult than they were. They were just the first few steps in a lifetime of difficulties that just get harder and harder. When I was fifteen, I woke up, I put on my clothes, I ambled down the street, the ladies all followed - of course. And I bought a coke, and maybe swam at the beach and harassed a stunning short blonde until she punched me. And somehow, I thought those days were hard.”

Logan pauses and I watch him intently, his eyes on the road.

He continues, “Sometimes I wish I could go back and smack myself silly.”

“You don’t have to go back Logan,” I say saccharine, “I’ll smack you right now.”

His smile warms.

“Gracious as always Mars,” he pulls into the parking lot for the Mason, Ebb & Black Law Offices, pulls on the handbrake.

“Don’t get me wrong, I see the appeal. To be young, single, sun-kissed skin, not a wrinkle in sight.” I say.

He laughs, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You were never single, V. Not really.”

I grab my briefcase and open the door.

“Call me when you’re done, we can have a drink before we head home?”

“Sure,” I nod and leave the car, watching him drive away.

\---------------------------

The day was long, going through case by case of evidence that I’d been collating for the defense team. I didn’t even notice I’d been subconsciously clock-watching until one of the partners asked me if I had somewhere I’d rather be.

The truth was, concentrating was hard when you knew at the end of the day a cold drink with Logan awaits.

I needed to stop. It wasn’t healthy.

At 6.30, he picks me up and takes me to a local bar.

The bar is humming. People crammed into all the spaces. Hot and sticky, smelling of stale beer and grease. We hover around and hang close to a couple leaving. I hip-check a group of guys as we race into a small corner booth. Logan gets us some drinks while I save his seat with my feet, order some chili-cheese fries and takes his place across from me.

“Sure you don’t want to head over to Tijuana? I know some great bars there.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m _sure_ you do, not sure I’m willing to partake of that today. Last thing I need is to get drunk in Mexico _with you_ in one of your favorite seedy joints with topless servers. I’ll wake up in the morning with my organs harvested on a side street.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, “but just to be clear, you _are_ willing to get drunk with me _here_ , on American soil?”

I nod and pick up my beer, “Yes, Sir,” I salute and we clunk our beers together with a cheers.

Conversation flows. Beer flows. The music seems to get louder. The booth is small. His large frame folded into the chair, long legs touching my seat. I can feel the heat emanating from them, so close to mine.

“Okay, I’ve got an idea.”

“Shoot.”

“Let’s go _fishing_ ,” he says, spreading his arms out with raised eyebrows.

“What? No way!” I wave him off.

‘Fishing’ was a game we used to play in college. When we were sitting at bars, bored, we would challenge each other to a fishing contest. We would set out, one at a time, watchtimer ready to see who could get a phone number the quickest. The rules were - no rules. Everyone in the bar was fair game. If someone was extremely good looking, you got 20 seconds shaved off your time. The loser bought the winner a drink. Of course, Logan was the master at fishing. He was hard to beat in his day. I was close behind, generally scoring well. Duncan struggled, he got bogged down in the chatting, the life story, and would often forget about the clock entirely.

“Come on, Ronnie, it’s fun, a little healthy competition.”

“You only say that because you were the undefeated champion. Didn’t you reel someone in 22 seconds?” I ask.

He scoffs, affronted, “21 seconds, and you know it.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes dramatically, “It was cheating.”

“It was charm. One hundred percent, pure unadulterated charm.”

“You’re incorrigible,” I say, taking a gulp of my beer.

“I know,” he smirks, leaning closer, voice lower, “But you _want_ to challenge me, don’t you? If you’re not the best at every little thing in life, it drives you insane.”

He’s not wrong.

He continues, “I mean, I _could_ teach you? Of course, some things are lost in translation, I think it has something to do with pheromones, general irresistibility,” his hands punctuate his words.

“Bite me, Echolls.”

The smile drops from his face, eyes darken, and he snaps his teeth like a crocodile.

“It’s fine, I get it, you’re scared to lose. Worried you don’t have what it takes anymore. We’re a _lot_ older now,” he baits me. 

I stand up and straighten my dress, pulling it down a little at the front and smoothing my hair, “Alright asshole, let’s do this. Get your timer ready.”

He smiles smugly, rubbing his hands together, and takes out his phone. He hits START and I am off like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.

Remembering my wedding ring, I dart back, pry it off my finger, and slam it down in front of him. He picks it up, passes it between long fingers, then places it back down on the sticky wooden tabletop.

“I don’t think that would have been an issue,” he smiles.

“I’m not taking any chances.”

I scan the crowd in search of a victim. Packs of guys together generally were the easiest targets. Searching for for wedding rings, I spot a man with a beard, mid-thirties, standing against the wall with friends, beer in hand. He had a friendly smile and no wedding ring.

I steady myself, put on my sweetest smile and approach him.

“Excuse me, are you Steven?”

He looks around, confused. “No, I’m Matt,” his friends chuckle.

“Oh sorry,” I touched his arm apologetically, and lingered on his skin for a moment, “I’m here with my friend, and I’ve been chatting to a guy on a dating app, Steven. He was supposed to meet me here at least an hour ago but, it looks like I’ve been stood up. Sorry, I guess I saw you and was hoping it might be you.”

One of the hardest things I always found with fishing was knowing Logan was watching. It was a challenge enough not to laugh if we happened to make eye contact. Stay serious, hook the victim.

But he is there, in the booth in my peripheral vision. Arm casually slung over the top of the seat. Head turned towards me to watch. Even from across the room, I can feel his eyes on me, following me.

Focus, Veronica!

Matt was hooked; he was easy. He was so sad to hear about the bastard that stood me up. His friends seemed eager to push him towards me and pick up the slack that Steven had left. I left with a brief hug and headed back to the table, hitting the stop timer on my return.

Seven minutes forty-eight seconds. Not my greatest effort.

“He was an easy target,” Logan challenged.

“No way!”

“Yeah, the only guy in a group with no wedding ring, standing around looking desperate.”

“Oh, he was not, he was _nice_!” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince. I start to play with my wedding ring on the table but don’t put it back on straight away.

“Fine. Your turn, show me how it’s done and NO mentioning the fighter pilot thing! That’s not fair.”

Hand to his chest, shocked, “What? That’s my hook, I’ve never been able to use it fishing before. I think I’ve earned it!”

I shake my head.

“Sorry Mr. Echolls, you are no longer a fighter pilot so you can’t use it, I will disqualify.”

Logan stands and runs his fingers through his hair, “Fine, watch and learn.”

I set the timer on his phone, and he strides off. Long legs carrying him over to the bar.

I set the timer on his phone, and he strides off. Long legs carrying him over to the bar. I examine the way he moves, all confidence, his t-shirt clinging to his chest, defining muscles he never had before. Age is probably going to make it easier for him to catch a fish, not harder. Bastard.

His body leans against the bar as he orders a drink from the bartender. I remember this move. He likes to approach his victim with a drink in hand as an icebreaker. Unfortunate victim, she doesn’t stand a chance.

My phone vibrates.

 **10.12 pm from Duncan Kane** Hey babe. How did you go today? I’ve just finished meeting with Governor. Going to crash at the office tonight. Meet for lunch tomorrow?

 **10.12 pm from Veronica Mars** All good. Lunch tomorrow sounds good. 

I don’t feel the need to tell him where I am. He didn’t exactly ask. No harm, no foul.

I look up, and Logan is approaching the booth with two Martinis in hand. He stands at the end of the table and puts one in front of me.

“There is NO way you’re back already!” I shriek, looking at the timer. Two minutes, fifty-three seconds.

“Hi, I saw you sitting over here by yourself. I thought you might like a drink. I’m Logan,” he holds his hand out toward me. I stare at it, confused. I lift my hand and shake his slowly. What is happening? I begin to wonder how many drinks I’ve had.

“What’s your name?”

His eyes are smiling at me, pleading. Little creases appeared on his forehead. He’s _willing_ me to play this game with him.

I stare back at him. Is he _really_ going to do this?

Go fishing?

For _me_?

I contemplate the thought for a moment. What could be worse than Logan trying to woo me? And I know how to play this game, so I can make this timer go on forever. Suddenly I feel like this might be the perfect opportunity to ensure my victory.

“Veronica.”

“Nice to meet you, Veronica, do you mind if I sit? Or are you waiting for someone?”

I motion to the seat, “make yourself at home.”

He gently touches his fingers against my rings, sitting in the middle of the table and looks up at me, concerned.

“Are these yours? Are you married?”

“No, no,” I pick them up and slip them onto my right hand, holding it up to show him.

“What are you doing here tonight, do you live in San Diego?”

“No, I live in Neptune. I’m here for work today.”

“Awesome, I live in Neptune too. What a coincidence. What do you do, Veronica?”

I thought about it for a moment. It’s a pretend world, isn’t it? This is a pretend conversation? I decide I’m going to be _exactly_ who I want to be... I’m going all in.

“I’m in the FBI, an investigator.”

“Wow, that’s awesome! How long have you been doing that?”

“Since I finished college. I was lucky enough to get an internship there,” It hurt a little even saying it. In _this_ version of my life, I’m going to stick it out, finish my internship and not act like an a fool running back to Neptune at the first sign of struggle and back into Duncan’s arms. I shudder at my naivety. At 21, you do stupid things and rarely consider how it will influence the rest of your life.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a Naval fighter pilot,” he grins wide, dimples forming in his cheeks, “a _highly decorated_ fighter pilot.”

My mouth opens wide in shock.

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Flying jets and protecting you and your country,” he is laying it on thick.

I laugh, deep in my belly. Logan joins in, breaking character for a moment.

“Well, I admire you for your bravery, Logan,” I salute him.

“Good,” he sticks his tongue out at me, “you should!”

His thigh grazes mine under the table. If he felt it, he certainly doesn’t flinch. I most definitely feel it. The touch sends a pulse through me, ripples of electricity.

“Are you single?” he asks, swirling his fingers absentmindedly on the martini glass and taking a sip.

I nod, making direct eye contact.

“You?”

Those caramel eyes stare back at me.

He nods back.

Our fries finally come to the table. As soon as I smell them I realize how hungry I am, I need something to soak up the alcohol. I dig in.

“I love a woman who eats in front of a man,” he watches the fries travel from my hand to my mouth.

“Well, then maybe we’re meant to be!” I lean toward him and slowly, casually run fingertips down his forearm. 

My signature move ‘fishing’ move.

He freezes momentarily.

As we get lost in our ‘date,’ I learn what it might be like to actually be on a date with Logan. He’s flirtatious, attentive, playful. Sometimes it’s nice to play pretend. Our relationship has always had the shadow of Duncan not far from my side, so imagining a life where I’m just myself is a little thrilling. Even if it’s just for tonight, I can be whoever I want to be. The person I wish I were, with Logan.

I look down at the timer one hour and forty-five minutes, and smile.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s nearing midnight. The apartment sits quiet as I tap away in the dark, the light from the laptop illuminating my face.

I pause for a minute and glance at my phone, typing another text to Logan.

 **From Veronica Mars:** You free for a coffee tomorrow?

I keep sending these messages to him and they remain unanswered. A month now since I’d seen him, since San Diego, and nothing. 

A key in the front door eventually turns and I snap my head up, watching the lock move. Duncan enters and closes it louder than appropriate for this time of evening. He looks at me wordlessly, goes to the fridge and takes out a beer. I save my document and creep into the kitchen towards him. The streetlights ricochet scattered beams across his troubled face.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, voice tentative.

He turns away from me, head down.

I approach him and rub his back, the way he likes, “Come on, Duncan, it’s okay, did you have a bad day?” I draw circles with my hand. 

He shrugs from my touch and stalks to the other side of the kitchen.

“Come on, what happened?” I press. Imploring him to look at me.

Duncan is silent, drinking his beer. He rests against the counter. 

He draws a labored breath and starts speaking, “I had lunch with Parker today,” he says finally. Quietly, watching me, awaiting my reaction.

I try not to flinch, willing the muscles in my face to remain passive. But what I mask on the outside, inside my heart rages, beats quickening. 

“Okay?”

He is silent again, finishing his beer in a quick gulp before going to the fridge to get another. He loosens his tie and throws it onto the counter lazily.

Duncan is trying to find words, taking protracted moments to process. Each second that ticks past incrementally speeds my pulse rate.

“Is it true?”

I freeze, mouth suddenly dry.

“Is _what_ true?” I almost can’t get the sound out, my tongue like sandpaper. When I do, I barely hear them over the crashing sound of my own heart drumming through my veins.

“Did you fuck him?” he says, voice eerily level. Eyes finally meeting mine.

I don’t reply. Can’t reply.

“Did you _fuck_ my _best friend_?” He is suddenly screaming at me, spitting with rage and venom, unmoving. Anger drips from his pores. He takes a deep breath and repeats himself, “Did you _fuck_ my _best friend_ the day before _our wedding_?”

Moving back, I creep out of the small space with him. Not afraid he will hurt me, just afraid.

I blink away tears that blur my vision.

Words to respond don’t come, I lay my face in my hands. My silence is tantamount to an admission of guilt.

“Are you _fucking kidding me!_?” He jumps from the counter towards me. Beer breaches the rim and spills from his bottle.

I hang my head and focus on the pale puddles on floorboards.

I’m going to be sick, I’m sure.

“Why?”

“WHY!!?” He yells.

I hold up my hands, “I don’t know! It was a mistake. I married _you!”_

He laughs. Over and over again. He is laughing _at me_. He has tears in his eyes.

“There I am, sitting, enjoying my avocado sourdough toast and Parker asks me how on earth I got over what happened. And then I sit there, like an idiot, like I’m the only person in the world that doesn’t know that my _wife fucked my best friend._ ”

“Dunc..”

He cuts me off, “ _Fuck you_!” a shaking finger points towards my chest, only inches away. “No wonder he bailed, he was running away, the coward.”

I think about defending Logan, offering an explanation, but now is not the time.

“Tell me, do you love him? Does he love you?” He spits, laughing.

The words slice, but I refuse to let it show.

I move to him and attempt to take his hand, to calm him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.” Tears are coming now, hard and fast, “I’m so sorry Duncan.” Words I should have said five years earlier, before all of this mess, and just walked away.

He lets me hold his hand for a moment before ripping it away and stalking into the lounge. I follow him.

He spins around, finger again pointed towards me.

“Have you been fucking him the whole time since he’s been back?”

“God, no.”

“Let me rephrase that, have _you_ fucked _him_ since he’s been back?”

I search for a word, any word, but I can’t find one.

Duncan laughs again. The laughing much scarier than the yelling.

I want him to keep screaming at me, to yell, to get it all out. To tell me all the horrible things I know I am. All the things I’ve hidden from everyone, from myself, for years. A cheater, a liar, an adulterer.

“You get it, _right_? You see why I’m mad? My _entire marriage_ is based on a lie.”

I nod, agreeing.

“On our wedding day, on our Honeymoon, when we were in Bermuda, _he_ was _inside you_ just days earlier! That’s fucked up, right? You see that, right? And at _no_ point in five years of marriage, could you tell _me, your husband_ the truth?” He yells, shaking with rage.

I pad small footsteps away from him, finding solace in the wall behind me. Because I’m sure I’m going to collapse, my legs can’t carry me any longer. Tiny cold beads of sweat form on my forehead. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say?” I open my palms, surrendering.

“Nothing,” he backs away, suddenly calm, “Nothing. It should be easy for you, Veronica. You did it for five years.”

He goes into the bedroom, leaving me alone by the wall. I’m struggling to breathe. My head hurts, my chest hurts. I’m not sure what to do.

Appearing with a full duffel bag, he passes me, grabs his keys, and turns on his heels, voice seeping with derision. Strangely calm.

“I’m so fucking glad we didn’t have a baby, V,” and slams the door behind him.

I stare at it. The room’s still dark, it seems to have gone into shock. The yell of stinging words, then nothing. 

Silence.

I’m alone.

A strange sensation runs through me. I’d imagined this scenario playing out over the years with varying outcomes. In all of them I was broken, devastated by the horror of him finding out. But now, this reality just feels like relief.

The cold sweat comes back to my brow. I run to the kitchen and vomit into the sink.

\------------------

Eyes swollen, head pounding, curled on the couch where I spent the night. Fingers play with stray threads on cushions, pulling them until they tear tracks across the surface.

I’m supposed to be in San Deigo for a meeting, I call through a half-hearted apology complaining of a gastro-bug. Then, I message Mac.

 **8.48 from Veronica** Duncan found out. He left last night.

 **8.49 from Mac** Holy Shit. Be there in 20.

I throw my phone down and contemplate freshening up before Jen arrives. I am aching, exhausted from it all. The fight, the crying, the mere thought of it makes my bones ache. I fall back into a light sleep before I hear a key in the lock.

“What the hell happened?” Mac stands before me her hands in the air.

She’s wearing workout clothes, and hair tied back into a tight bun. I must have rung while she was on her morning run.

Palms cover my face as I try to shrink away from having to verbalize this to anyone, even Mac.

“Duncan found out,” I say, voice small.

“Oh my God, did Logan tell him?”

“No, god, no! It was Parker.”

Jen nods, sits beside me, pulling the blanket up around my neck. She rubs my back as I talk.

“It was horrible, so much yelling. He’s so fucking mad. Not that I blame him.” I scratch my messed up hair, “I don’t know why I never thought he’d actually find out. Somehow I thought the secret would just stay that way, a secret, forever.”

Mac eyes me warily. “I’ve gotta be honest V, the second Logan came back to town you had to expect this was a possibility, surely?”

I nod.

“Are you mad at Parker?” she asks.

“No. She’s the only person telling the truth. I can’t really be mad at her for that.”

“Have you told Logan yet? Duncan is going to kill him.”

“No.” I look at her with shock. The idea hadn’t really crossed my mind. “Do you think he would? No.” I try to convince myself.

“You should call Logan, give him some warning. It’s only fair.”

I grimace.

“What? What’s going on with you two? Apart from the obvious.”

“Nothing exactly. We haven’t really spoken since we went to San Diego.” I pull my blanket up a little higher. “We had a bit of a fight.” I lie. What’s another falsehood thrown in the growing pile?

Mac shakes her head at me, “At least text him V, don’t leave him in the dark.”

I pick up my phone and send off a quick message.

 **10.13 am from Veronica Kane:** Heads up. Parker told Duncan what happened. He left last night. V.

I stare at the screen. I can see that he has read my message.

Those three little dots dance.

…

…

…

Then nothing.

—————————-

On Saturday, you have friends, confidants, a husband. By the next Friday, you’re sitting alone in your apartment. Mac, my only ally, is in Washington for work.

When events such as these happen, people must pick a side, rarely can the circle of friends continue unhindered. I’d fractured it, possibly irreparably.

Wallace is screening my calls, furious to finally discover the reason for the breakdown of Logan’s marriage. Duncan moved out and severed all lines of communication. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to box up his things, or leave them until we officially ‘talk’. Maybe the conversation we had would be our last. But I call him, nonetheless, seeking closure, seeking familiarity, seeking the chance to apologize, properly.

Another voicemail. He is a ghost.

My other ghost still hasn’t reappeared. Logan has answered no texts, no calls, nothing since San Diego.

I feel abandoned, alone. It’s just penance for my sins. I lean into it, this existence I’ve created for myself.

So, I sit in an apartment that has Duncan’s name on the lease, on a couch that he picked out, surrounded by sterile white walls and modern ergonomic furniture. It’s my apartment too, but I see no traces of myself within it. I’m not sure why I never noticed it before. Apart from my books in the bookcase, you would be forgiven for thinking that Duncan lived alone.

Maybe he did.

Roused from my reverie by a sharp knock, I peel myself from my couch groove. Making my way to the door I take a second to pray to the universe, I know who I _want_ to be behind it. 

_Please._

_Please._

Eyesocket to the peephole, I squint and focus, letting my hope fall away as quickly as it comes. 

It’s Dad.

While not my chosen prayer, it’s the next best thing. I take a deep breath. Steady myself and open the door.

“Daddy-o, come on in.”

Keith, who I’d concealed this from the longest, through fear that the only family member I had left would treat me with the same disdain as others. That he’d look at me _that way._ Forever tainted.

It was only a matter of time.

He walks through the door, looks around at the disorder, and studies me, brow furrowed.

“Something is not right here,” he shakes his head.

“Wow, you ARE a detective!”

There are wine bottles, takeout containers, blankets strewn around. I turn, embarrassed, and collect them, focusing on the mess, not the reality, not having to admit to him my misgivings.

“What’s going on Veronica?” He is concerned, suddenly serious. He places a soft hand upon my own, steading me. He takes the boxes, places them down and sits on the couch, amongst my fortress of blankets and pillows. A makeshift sleeping quarters I’d crafted for myself so I didn’t have to return to the bedroom, to _our_ bed. He points to the spot beside him and I obey, sitting.

“Oh, you know. Just your run of the mill domestic dispute. Followed by one swift departure. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Duncan? Is gone? What the hell happened?” he walks around and starts collecting bottles and trying to tidy up. I would help him if I had any energy left to stand. Moping was _draining._

He then stops and turns towards me, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I shake my head.

I don’t want to tell Dad the real story. I don’t want to tell anyone. I’m ashamed. So, avoiding the question seems like the best path.

“Anyway, I’m just having a little meltdown here, but don’t worry. All good, I’ll be back on my feet in no time,” I try to usher him out the door.

“Veronica.” He glares at me, interrogation style, “Look at you. When did this happen? You look terrible, you’ve lost weight.”

I sigh. How do you avoid the hard stares of the ex-sheriff?

“About a week ago.”

“What was the dispute about?” He’s pacing now. All I need is some handcuffs and a light in my eyes.

“Just some old stuff from the past came up.”

“Old Stuff? What is that, Veronica. What _Stuff?”_

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m just going to keep asking you, Veronica.”

I hang my head, “Something happened with Logan.”

Dad exhales deeply and rolls his head back a little and then looks at me, those all-knowing eyes.

“I can’t say I wasn’t a little concerned at his re-appearance.”

I scoff, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“What?”

“You two have always had a weird relationship. I spotted something _there_ when you guys were just kids.”

I cross my arms like a stubborn two-year-old. “Well, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Is it? Really, Veronica? Clearly, I was right.”

He lets that hang in the air while resuming picking up my mess.

“So Duncan left?”

I nod and curl back up on the couch in my previous position while my Dad cleans the apartment for me.

\------

Weeks later and the apartment is cleaner, I don’t sleep on the couch anymore.

I harassed Duncans’s secretary into giving me his new address, boxed up all his stuff, and had it shipped directly. I cleared out all the terrible furniture that Celeste had bought us when we first got married. A gaudy love seat, velvet. It belonged in a baroque castle, not in a modern apartment. Pete, a Jamaican artist who lived below, helped me to carry it down the stairs and deposit it with a ‘FREE’ sign on the sidewalk. It’s been a week, and it’s still there.

I remove the wedding photos from the walls, they leave eerie white patches below. I don’t know what to do with them, so they sit in the hall in boxes, gathering dust.

After everything is cleared out, I’m welcomed with a blank space.

I put the coffee machine on and stand, back against the counter and check my phone for the tenth time this hour.

Nothing.

At this point everyone has found out. Everyone knows who I am. An adulterer. A cheater. My messages are always quiet now.

There is only one person I want to talk to, and I haven’t heard from him for well over a month.

The coffee is ready, I pour it into the mug, wrap my hands around the porcelain and bring it to my face. The aroma hits me. But it’s not the pleasant smokey beans that I’m used to. It’s horrible, smelling rancid, like decay. My stomach turns, I run to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet.

This is the last straw. For some time now I’ve been struggling to keep food down. At first, I thought it was shock. That I was so repulsed by myself it manifested itself into actual illness.

No.

How much longer could I deny the thoughts that lingered in the back of my mind?

As I sat on the floor of the bathroom, I reached underneath the cupboard and pulled out a box of pregnancy tests—50 of them. IVF rounds make for a cache of pregnancy tests available at any moment of the day. I pull one out and stare at it. 

The tests themselves flood me with anxiety. 

Lines. Always one. 

Each time I’d stare at the space the other line should be and attempt to will it into existence. 

I haul myself off the floor and pee onto the stick, throwing it on the vanity. I refuse to look at it for the required two-minute wait, so I take the opportunity to brush my teeth vigorously and stare out the window. I rinse and spit, glancing ever so slightly to my right.

And there, clear as day, even from a distance, is not one, but two blue lines.


	10. Chapter 10

I sit on the bathroom, cold tiles beneath me, staring at that line. White plastic, four inches long, the width of my finger. How can an inanimate object in my hands mean so much? I take gulps of water from the faucet, drink until I can’t drink anymore. I need to pee again; I need to be _sure._

Fifteen minutes pass like a lifetime before I can finally produce another urine sample, and I pee onto three more sticks. Four tests seem like a nice round number for a proper analysis. One could be a false positive. Four tests don’t lie.

I line them up like soldiers on the counter. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

This time I watch them, but a two-minute wait isn’t required. The second line is virtually instantaneous. 

That line says Logan. 

That line takes me to San Diego, to a car ride on a hot day, to drinks in a bar, to a game of fishing, to a moment in time. A moment I hide, along with all my other secrets, lined up like lines. 

———————————

We took a taxi home to Neptune. It cost $173.53. Logan paid. We were too drunk to care.

I leaned deep into the leather seats and focused on the lights passing by, blurred in my martini haze. Logan sat back, almost horizontal, legs outstretched in the small space, his knee pressed against my own. The humidity of the day has reached its crescendo with a sullen downpour dripping in zig-zagged waves across the taxi window.

When the taxi-driver asked where we were going, there was a mutually protracted pause. 

“Um,” Logan looked at me and shrugged.

“Well, um…”

“Do you wanna come to mine, for a nightcap?” he asked.

This, of course, like most ideas presented by Logan, was a terrible idea. And not for the last time that night, I answered yes, when I should have answered no.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. Logan smiled.

We pulled out the front of Logan’s apartment, stumbling into the rain like drunken college kids. I held my handbag over my head, running to the door. This position, however, rendered my questionable balance exhausted and I tripped, falling into a bush, losing a shoe.

“Miss Mars, your grace knows no bounds,” an outstretched hand dragged me up from the scratchy leaves. My veins pulsed as his fingers took mine, a jolt of electricity. He pulled his hand back, chuckled and dove it deep into his pocket.

With one shoe under an arm, we ran undercover, sufficiently drenched. Logan unlocked the door, and we went inside. 

Inside, there was only the gentle hum of the air-conditioner. The rain outside was merely a whisper tapping on window panes.

He went to the bathroom, got two towels and tossed one to me as he ran the other across his damp hair roughly. Finished, he threw it onto the back of a chair and walked to the kitchen, hair standing in wet clumps on their end. I gently massaged the ends of my own with a towel, then ran it across my bare arms, collecting stray drips.

Logan took out an expensive-looking whiskey bottle and some clean glasses.

“Welcome to my humble abode, make yourself at home,” he said, effortlessly resuming the game.

He was still fishing. I was still his bait. I could feel him reeling me in. I was nearing the boat.

“It’s nice,” I played along, “a little bachelor-pad for my liking, I bet you have mood lighting and black silk sheets in the bedroom, right?” I said, instantly regretting the words.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Eyebrows waggled.

I didn’t dignify it with a response, instead kicking off my other shoe and enjoying the feel of the cool tiles beneath my feet, grounding me.

He passed me the whiskey, single ice cube and swirling caramel liquid. We clinked glasses in cheers.

“To new friends,” he said, smile broad and eyes glassy. Was he swaying a little, or was it me?

All I could feel was Logan’s presence, warm and familiar. His smell, everywhere, like the salty ocean. I wanted to lick his skin, to taste it.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asks.

I shake my head. Its 2.30 am. Watching a movie is the last thing I want to do.

We stood together in his small, fancy kitchen, closer than friends should. If I outstretched an arm, it would touch him. It would fall upon his shoulder, or maybe his chest. So I kept all limbs tight by my side, clinging to my glass like a lifeline. 

I took steadying sips in the silence, watching his neck, Adam’s apple gently bobbing, covered in a fine smattering of brown stubble. 

I _should_ put my shoes back on. I _should_ go home to my own house, the one I share with my husband. I _should_ walk away from this man. 

_Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda._

Instead, I said, “Logan, pass me your phone.”

He eyed me quizzically, reached across the counter and handed it to me.

“Unlock it.”

Grinning, he obeyed.

I opened up the timer and press stop.

302 minutes, 17 seconds.

“Hey!” he sees what I’m doing and reaches for the phone. I pull it away. “What are you doing? I’m going for a record!”

“What record?”

“Longest fish ever.”

I roll my eyes and pass him the phone back.

“I don’t want to play anymore Logan. I want to be us,” I gesture between us.

“Us?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow like I’m crazy, or dangerous or both.

“Logan and Veronica,” I said.

I took a step toward him.

He mirrored me, taking his own step forward.

His eyes morph to the darkest of browns. I recognize those eyes, I’ve seen them before. He doesn’t blink or speak, holding my gaze.

At this point, it wouldn’t be an outstretched arm to reach him, a breath would do it. 

I repeated myself, almost in a whisper, afraid I’d lose my nerve, “I want to be _us_.”

It was all he needed to bridge the gap, to incline his head, forehead against my own, eyes hungry. I understood entirely, I was starving. He hesitated, fighting the never-ending battle with himself. I raised trembling arms around his neck, feeling the hot skin at his hairline. I looped my fingers together and pulled his lips towards mine.

Why was it always like this with him?

Like… completion.

The kiss was primal, white-hot need, snaking down my insides, pooling at my toes.

He lifted me onto the counter, velvet crush of lips and staggered breaths shared, my legs constricting around his waist, drawing him to me. It’s there I found him endlessly hard, pressing directly into my heat. Our kisses, messy and desperate, like the only kisses I’d ever known from Logan, frenzied lips on borrowed time. I grabbed at his shirt and forcing it over his head.

Before it’s entirely off, he was back, lips on mine, tongue grazing against my own. He radiated heat, his smell more profound now, making me dizzy.

He tried to pick me up, but I lost grip and slid halfway down his torso. He fumbles with my legs and lifts me again, holding me tighter this time, and together we staggered through the hallway. I barely felt my ankle slamming a doorjamb as we pass through it.

As he carried me I pondered the scope of this development. Were we too drunk? Of course we were. But, then I had to admit that this is the whole reason I drink with Logan. I drink to lose my inhibitions, hoping that maybe he will too. I drink so I can forget about Duncan, forget about my current life. I drink knowing that this may happen, wanting it to happen but lacking the sober courage to take action. And I drink so that I have an excuse in the morning, a reason for my behavior.

I am a terrible person.

I know.

But in that moment, wrapped around him, I couldn’t summon the will to stop.

We stumbled into Logan’s bedroom, tumbling upon soft sheets. Fingertips grazing below my shirt, pulling it over my head, pressing his bare torso against my own. Sheer torture each time his lips left mine to remove another item of clothing, they swiftly scramble back, finding each other.

Down to my underwear, he drags his body down, taking deep breaths. Brown eyes look up at me hovering over my black lace panties.

“V?”

“Mmm,” is the best response I can muster.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

“How sure?”

“How’s a thousand percent?”

I drew him closer, desperate to feel the fullness, to expel the heat from my veins, but he slowed. Instead, tracking a series of kisses down the side of my bare torso, a protracted, delicious torture.

He bobbed his head, licked my navel and said, “That’s terrible maths.”

“Logan,” I moaned, willing him to stop teasing.

“Okay, but if I only get you now, I’m going to take my time,” he whispered.

I groaned as he chuckled in response. Hands dancing against the lace of my panties, tips of fingers trailing a path further south. Legs falling open, fingertips tracking back and forth, feeling the wetness that was soaking my underwear. His thumb circled the fabric. The roughness of it, the unbearable friction made me arch in delight, white-knuckled, gripping Logan’s sheets. The sheets were black, just as I suspected.

Rearranging himself between my legs, a hand steadied my hip as the other pulled the lace to one side. A gentle breath against me, hovering so close, I writhed. It seemed an eternity before he finally lowered his lips, taking long lazy licks across the length of my slit. He groaned, heavy and guttural as he ended his travels against my clit, pursing his lips around it, drawing it in and flicking it with his tongue. He took his time, painfully lapping before drawing it more firmly in his lips. I could feel the warmth building deep in my belly, faster than I’d ever known. 

When a finger entered, edging its way inside, a gradual coaxing morphed to sodden thrusts. It was clear I could hold on no longer. Fingernails raking through his scalp, I dragged him closer. With this, his tongue became more insistent, the prickles of stubble against me, feeling the orgasm tearing through my veins as I pulsed uncontrolled around his finger. The waves of pleasure peaked and receding, left me panting and limp under him. He waited until my throws subsided before crawling back up my body, face back to my own.

He kissed with purpose, lips tasting of me, stubble still wet from my pleasure. I pulled at his jeans, which somehow had remained on in this interlude. They felt even tighter than before. He helped with the button, slid the zipper, pulled them down, letting his boxer briefs follow. 

I could only see glimmers of his outline in the dark room, the lines of the muscles on his neck, his torso, his cock springing forth. Paying homage, I reached down, feeling the weight of him in my palms, the growl of his voice, pulling back and forth, swirling a wet finger across the tip. Logan cupped my hair in his hands, tucked an errant strand behind my ear and gazed down at me. Positioning himself between my legs he gradually slipped back and forth between my wet folds. A torturous wait before he finally dropped his hips, slowly sinking inside, filling me. 

Cries of pleasure tumbled in the darkness.

I lost myself in Logan that night, and it was the best moment of five years of my life.

\-----------------

The obstetrician’s office is littered with spliced models of the human reproductive system. While I lay on the table awaiting her to return, I stare at the model of the female pelvis, little beans morphing into babies inside. My heart rate quickens just looking at it.

The door clicks open and she reappears, positioning herself on the swivel chair beside me and takes the ultrasound wand in her hand, depositing the freezing cold jelly on my abdomen. 

I’m silent. 

“You can breathe,” she reassures me with a smile, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

She resumes her search of my insides, finally settling on a small mass of black inside a bigger mass of grey on the monitor. None of it resembles anything I’d expected.

“There’s the little nugget,” she points to the screen.

It’s a dot, a little black dot, but it’s moving. Vibrating back and forth, a heartbeat.

“102 beats per minute.”

“How far along?” I ask because I’ve never done _this_ before, never got this far. I need to know for sure. 

She measures it with a little ruler device on the screen, both sides. 

“I would say somewhere between six, seven weeks.”

I nod, letting the words sink in. Of course, I knew, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront this new reality.

She pulls off the wand and wipes my stomach clean.

“Why now? Why after all that IVF, does it happen now?” I shake my head, confused by it all.

She shrugs, “I wish I knew, if I knew I’d be the richest obstetrician in the world. Sometimes, all the anatomy stars align at just the perfect time in just the perfect settings. Your ovulation was probably still stimulated from all the injections. I see it often, when you stop _trying,_ suddenly you relax, and nature does what it knows best.”

Hopping off the table, I pull on my underwear and jeans.

“Duncan will be thrilled, I bet,” she says, turning off the monitor.

I hesitate for a moment. Of course, she thinks its Duncan, she’s been here through all of this with us. Why wouldn’t it be _Duncan?_

I don’t know what to say. This happens a lot at the moment, when I have to _say_ these things to people I know, then the way they look at me changes. I’m tainted in their eyes.

Like Wallace, like Dad, even Mac sometimes.

“Duncan and I have split, this isn’t…” I don’t finish the sentence, but she nods, understanding, a little O forming on her lips.

“Well, then that explains it all the more. Different couple, different circumstances.”

I smile, as much as I can muster.

“Try to be happy Veronica, maybe it’s not the path you envisioned for your family, but it will be your family, in eight short months.”

I thank her and leave the offices. That’s the problem, I _am_ happy, I’m so fucking happy I don’t know how to function, how to express it. But that happiness is hinged on telling one person about this life inside of me, and now I just need to find him. 

On the drive home, the word she said floats around in my head, it’s one that I never really thought of with Logan, but I enjoy the way it sounds, I say it out loud.

_“Family.”_

_\--------------------------------_

I turn up at Mac’s door and knock.

She lives in a beautiful architecturally designed house about 10 minutes from the beach. There are bikes strewn near the door and a helmet nearby beside a potplant.

I can hear the kids running around on the floorboards, fighting.

The door opens, “Veronica,” Mac is surprised. I don’t usually do day visits. “Come in, come in.”

We walk through the hallway, stepping over toys and a box of opened raisins towards the kitchen.

“Do you want a coffee?”

I shake my head.

“What’s going on?” she turns and looks at me, studying me, “Are you okay?”

I shake my head again. I can’t seem to form words.

She grabs my hand and pulls me into her office, a small room just off the kitchen and closes the door and locks it.

“This is the only room in the house with a proper lock. The kids can’t find us in here.”

I lean onto her desk.

“Is it Duncan? Did something happen?”

I’m afraid. Scared to tell her. She is the only friend who is still speaking to me. Once I tell her the truth I’m worried she’ll cut me off too.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her hands fly to her open mouth in shock, “Oh my God, Veronica!!” She is ecstatic and jumps forward to wrap me in a hug, jumping up and down.

“How did it happen, oh my god! This is _amazing_!” Mac has been with me through it all, all the ups and downs, all the disappointment. She sees this purely as a joy to be celebrated.

“It’s not Duncan’s.”

She stops jumping. Her hand goes back over her mouth.

“Oh.”

I nod

“Logan?”

I nod again.

“When?”

“San Diego.”

“You casually left that out when you told me about that day,” a little bitter.

“We got very drunk. Very very drunk. I wasn’t exactly proud of it. And it happened just before Duncan found out about the _other_ time, so everything kind of became a blur.”

“Fuck,” she starts pacing around the room.

“I haven’t heard from Logan since it happened. He’s been avoiding me completely or away for work or something. _I don’t know_!” Tears start to form, and I pull at my face in frustration.

“Fuck!”

“Yep, that pretty much sums it up.”

She pulls out her phone and starts scrolling. Mac is a do-er. She takes action. I like that. I felt like I was useless, powerless.

The phone is at her ear. What the hell is she doing? I can only hear her side of the conversation.

_“Hey, how’s it going?_

_Oh you know kids running around while I’m trying to work, the usual._

_What have you been up to lately?_

_Awesome._

_So I’m calling because I’ve got a possible job for you through some work contacts. It’s pretty high security though so I can’t really discuss it on the phone. Can you come around to my place?_

_Tonight?_

_Sure, great yeah, I’ll see you then._

_Bye”_

She hangs up the phone.

“Good News! He’s coming around this evening.”

\-------------

Alone, sitting on the gutter, I wait for him. 

It's dark. The evening still warm, so I don’t need a jacket. Wearing just a plain black t-shirt and jeans, I realize I forgot to brush my hair this morning.

I nervously pick at the skin on my fingers, digging into them, a pit of dread resting at the bottom of my stomach, churning.

Feeling steamrolled into this didn’t help my nerves. But, Mac was right. I needed to do this. He needed to know.

Headlights beam in my face, and his car pulls up on the other side of the drive. Lights dimming he gets out and strolls over to me, as tall and as handsome as ever.

“Just a regular Thursday night for you hey, hanging in the gutter?” he teases and folds himself in half to sit next to me, nudging me on the arm. He’s nervous.

That’s okay, so am I. There is a lot to be nervous about.

“I guessed you might be here, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I smelled a rat. Mac didn’t really sell me on the phone.”

I nod.

“Do you realize how horrible it feels having to get my friend to trick you into seeing me?” I question, staring at his face.

He hangs his head and looks at the ground.

“V. What option did I have?”

“You could stop running away and _talk_ to me.”

“I’m not running away.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, challenging his statement.

He exhales slowly and looks up at the sky, “I didn’t mean to do this. To come back and ruin everything.”

“Why did you come back? Really? And don’t say for the business.”

“I thought five years would be enough. I was under the misguided notion that five years would somehow void everything before and I could come back, and be a friend and just be _Logan_.” He pauses, “But it seems I’ve come back and made things even worse.”

I don’t speak because I can’t find words in my throat.

“I am a terrible friend to you - to Duncan. I’ve broken up my marriage because of it and now probably yours.” He runs his hand through his hair, frustration in his voice. “I’m so fucking ashamed of myself, I’m embarrassed. I’m sorry. But I can’t be around you. I can’t do this anymore.”

I fight back the tears.

“Why?” comes out as a whisper.

He groans. “You _know_ why.”

“Why?” I’m getting louder. I need to hear it.

“I can’t be around you because _I love you_. We keep playing these games and ending up in the bedroom. I try so fucking hard to just be your friend, to just stay away. I’ve only been back for four months, for God’s sake. But you’re _you._ ” He stands up from the gutter and starts pacing. “I don’t know how to stay away, so it’s just easier for me, better for everyone if I just, I don’t know. Clean break… again?”

He said it.

_Love._

My hands start shaking. I fold them together to try and stop it. I _needed_ to hear that, to know I wasn’t crazy. He felt it too.

I don’t know what to say. We seem to keep bouncing back to each other at every turn, I convinced myself it was just lust. But, if it was, why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Five years, over 1800 days and I still thought about him every single day.

Logan continues, “I told Parker everything, not long after it happened. She suspected something after I told her we couldn’t go to the wedding. I made her lie… about my deployment,” hands scratch at his head. “And because I made her lie, it made her want the truth more.”

I wince, realizing how much pain I caused in their marriage, not just my own.

“So I told her about it, but I said that it meant nothing to me. She’s not stupid, she _knew._ Man was she mad, but she was also embarrassed too and wanted us to work it out. So I agreed. But, then I realized I didn’t _really_ want to work it out. So, I did what I do best… I acted like a fucking idiot, went out every night. Drank myself into oblivion. I couldn’t cope, with what I’d done, and with what I’d lost. What did you used to call it?”

I muse, “destruction mode.”

He nods, “Yeah, destruction mode. Thankfully, this time I didn’t wrap myself around a tree. In the end, she was more than happy to leave me.”

I stare at the road.

“When you text me that Parker had told Duncan, I wasn’t surprised at all. I knew when I saw her at Duncan’s party that it was a likelihood. She may have moved on, but the anger was still there, at me and at you too.”

Poor Parker. I felt terrible. No wonder he wanted to self destruct.

“Why did you marry her?” I ask, taking advantage of his sudden honesty.

He pauses and then laughs a little bitterly.

“You want the truth?”

I nod.

“Because I couldn’t have you.”

My breath hitches with the realization that what I’d suspected had always been true. We’d both lived a life of lies. And for what? To end up right at the beginning again, with a pile of destroyed lives in our wake?

We sit in silence for a while. Processing, assessing the carnage that we caused.

But from that carnage, a life was created, and I need to tell him. I need to be brave.

“Logan, I’m pregnant.”

He freezes, staring at me.

“Wow,” he stutters, taking a few steps backward “Congratulations.”

My heart is beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

He folds himself down next to me and puts his hand gently on my leg. “There you go, that’s why I need to go. Be out of the picture so you can Duncan can start fresh.”

“Logan,” I pause and take his hand, “I haven’t slept with Duncan in over 11 months. Our last IVF round was 18 weeks ago. I’m six weeks pregnant.”

His eyelashes flutter as I can see him computing in his head.

“Logan, the baby is yours.”

He covers his face with his hands and puts his head between his legs, rocking back and forth.

My heart is in my throat.

He finally peels his hands away and looks at me.

“You’re serious?”

I nod.

“Duncan and I are over. We ended it. He’s gone. It’s done. To be honest, its been done for a long time. Long before he left.”

His hands run up and down his legs over and over, processing.

The truth was, I hadn’t thought past _telling_ Logan. All I knew is that he _needed_ to know. He was in this shit-show with me whether he liked it or not.

“But I thought you couldn’t...” he hesitates.

“Get pregnant?”

I shrug. There was never a diagnosed ‘problem’ it just _was_ a problem, conceiving. Maybe all along, the universe knew that with Duncan it just wasn’t _right?_

But I don’t say that. Everything is a little too fresh, too raw.

His dark caramel eyes smile a little in the light of the streetlights. He reaches over and takes my hand in his, tracing up and down my knuckles. “This isn’t the way I wanted us to start, with the breakup of your marriage and an unplanned pregnancy… but, I guess I’ll take it,” his smile is broad now.

I love the way he says ‘ _us.’_

How strange that, all of a sudden, one word could make me so sure of my true place in the world.

His fingers continue to circle, and I momentarily forget that we’re sitting in a gutter, in the dark, in Neptune of all places. Two adulterers, having to deal with the realities of their lies, and this was only just the beginning.

“So what are we going to do here?” he asks tentatively.

“I have no idea.”

He laughs, and I can’t help but follow.

This situation is so awkward it borders on ridiculous. I guess all we can do is laugh.

He settles, “Is it bad that I feel both terrible and fantastic at the same time?”

“I know the feeling.” On paper, my life is falling apart, but I’m happy for the first time in a long time.

Logan hesitates for a moment, “I feel more fantastic than terrible.”

He whispers against my knuckles and gently kisses my hand —tiny little kisses, tracing the back of my hand. My blood warms, it feels divine.

“Me too.”


End file.
